A Winter's Tale
by sycamoreleaf
Summary: AU - It is strange how one very small detail can change so much, for if one thing would have happened differently, this story needed not be told, for it would not have happened at all.  A Christmas story
1. Prologue

**_The Great Mouse Detective_ and the _Basil of Baker Street Mysteries_ belong to the Walt Disney Company and the late Eve Titus respectively. The original name of "Sherringford" for Basil's first name, Myerricroft Basil and the Scotland Yard Inspectors are the creations of Mlle. Irene Relda**

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This story is my way of wishing a Merry Christmas to all and one, and a Happy New Year!

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_**A Winter's Tale**_

_**Prologue**_

One'd be surprised to know just how fragile such a cruel thing as fate can be. The smallest of details, the most unnoticeable of things can lead to such grand changes to the pattern of to its web. Sometimes these changes are for better or for worse and whether they're by accident or by design, there's not a thing we can do about it.

A young girl is celebrating her birthday along with her father. Moments after he gives his daughter her present, a bat bursts into their home, taking the father with him. The girl remains though, and for a long while knows not what to do. With her father gone and nowhere to go to, the little girl simply did not know what to do. She tried to call for help at first, but nobody would hear her on the lone, cold London streets, and those who did would just walk by.

The hours ticked by, and still nobody offered help. She remembered when her father told her that help did not come cheep, but she never imagined it would be quite like that. At some point, she remembered the name of a mouse that could help her - Basil of Baker Street! Her father told her that is she ever had any problems, Basil would help. He could do anything, after all!

Finding Basil proved to be harder then she imagined though, for soon enough, she became lost. Nobody found it odd that a young little would wonder around the streets of London all alone on the eve of Her Majesty's Jubilee and nobody found her while she was crying - all lost, cold and alone in the rain.

One retired military doctor almost did though, but by some strange turn of events, he had forgotten his umbrella and thus was forced to run, right past her hiding place. That doctor could have heard her cry, but he did not. He could have helped her find this Basil, but he did not, because he was not aware of her troubles, or even her very existence. But even if he would have, that night they would have found no Basil home, for he was busy setting a trap for a certain rat.

The next day, after a not too comfortable night spent in a human boot, the girl made a decision: if nobody would help her, then she was going to help herself. She would keep searching, for both her father and Basil - whichever she will find first - and she will not have rest until she did.

But if only one thing would have happened differently: if the doctor wouldn't have forgotten his umbrella, if the detective would have been home that night, if the mice of London would have been more caring or if the child would have been a couple of years older, then the girl might be once again with her father, happy and content as all children should be. But life being what it is - a series of intersecting lives and incidents, out of anyone's control – none of these things happened, and so begin a brand new chain of events that will finally make a difference.

One which was not part of Fate's original plan.

The day young Olivia Flaversham did not meet Basil of Baker Street and Dr. David Dawson was the day Fate's web had changed its pattern. It was no longer as it should have been – it was… _not right_, and Fate was not happy by it. Still, Fate is as stubborn as it is cruel and one way or another, it will make sure that everything will stick by its pattern - no matter how long that would take.

It just needed to find the perfect time and place for a clever rewriting.

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_During this most festive season, people give and people shall recieve. My gift to you, my dears, is this small story, which although is small (and lately posted) and (surprise!) and AU - it was baked with love and care for all you wonderful readers out there to keep you warm in the long winter nights._

_Translation: I love AUs with a burning passion and although you will find that some characters will seem a bit OOC, that is only due to unusual circumstances (and for the sake of this story). But if you - despite all of this - will enjoy this story, feel free to leave a review ^^_


	2. Chapter 1: A girl on the streets

**_A Winter's Tale_**

**Chapter 1: A girl on the streets**

**London;  
**_December 1897_

The mouse decorating the tree was a beginner. He clearly had never done this thing before in his life, but it was also clear that he must have watched someone else do it before. He looked confident enough when he placed the decorations on, but the overall look of the tree said something else. Luckily enough for the tree, the child's mother stepped in, laughing most merrily at her son's eagerness to help, and helped him set the tree up properly, one little bauble after another.

He would get better in time. Only the beginning was hard, and that one Olivia Flaversham knew for certain.

Shifting her weight from one foot to another just to keep warm, she continued to look through the window at the lovely little scene of both mother and son busy with their tree. She looked and looked some more, until her nose had touched the glass without her notice. Olivia knew that they would notice her soon. They always did, but Olivia didn't want to leave just yet.

She wanted to stay just a little bit longer, to stay and watch and just pretend that the little boy was her, trying as hard as she could to make that one tree as pretty as it could be. She would mess things up when it came to the tinsel, but her father would be right there to make it all right again.

The mother had noticed her soon enough, unfortunately, so the fantasy had to wait for now, and she still had a lot of work to do. So tightening her thin blue coat around her, she made her way back into the busy London streets.

And dear me, where they ever busy.

"Fresh apples! Nicked right from them humans so you know they're fresh. Get 'em while they're here!"

The streets of London were often busy, but rarely were they quite as busy as they were now. Merchants of every shape and size - and of every specie – were yelling out their newest offers to the public, and the public was – believe it or not – quite willing to listen to them. It did not matter that the prices were more often then not set too high up to be considered fair. It was, after all, the Christmas holidays and each and every living creature in London was preparing to celebrate the Birth if Christ as they knew best.

Or, at least most of them were.

For young Olivia Flaversham, all set at the tender age of six (going on seven, one must be quick to add) everything seamed like an exaggeration. Her father had been taken away since last summer and nobody seamed to care about it. There was that man who seamed to care at one point, but after he had sent her to an orphanage all those moons back, she quick trusting people altogether. It was dreadfully hard running away from the orphanage to begin with!

So here she was, walking aimlessly among the merchants and buyers, anything but merry. It was still interesting listening to their voices.

"HUMAN SHILLINGS! That's right – get your human shillings, right here! Perfect to turn into a fancy looking mirror or maybe you'd like to buy something off of 'em – I don't care, I just sell 'em. O get 'em right here!"

Now here's an original one.

"Mince pies! Have one while they're still fresh!"

Oh, yes, very fresh. A day old and still fresh.

"Martha, darling! How wonderful to see you again! And looking as fresh as ever. Now tell me: how is Mr. Basil feeling today? Have you convinced him to come with you over to you daughter's place this year?"

Olivia froze. She did not just hear that. Not after all that time…

"Oh, you know my tenant: stubborn as a goat till the bitter end. It's already tradition! I invite, he refuses. Which up until last year I didn't mind at all. A whole week in which I didn't have to put up with his mess was a blessing. But that was before…"

"Oh, I know dear. My husband was Mr. Basil's doctor, remember?"

Olivia was certain she did not fully understand what the voices were talking about, but still, the name kept ringing again and again: Basil. With frozen fingers, she dug into her pocket and pulled out an old newspaper clipping. The headline read in fading letters: "FAMOUS DETECTIVE SOLVES BAFFLING DISSAPEARAANCE!"

"I still apologize for that. Mr. Basil had no right to –"

Olivia did not hear the next words, for a merchant chose that particular moment to holler out "NUTS FOR SALE!" as well as many other compliments for his products. She felt like thanking him, however, for she immediately became aware of the importance of finding a face to those voices. She had searches so long and reached a dead end so many times… She would not let this chance to escape. Not when she actually had a shot at it!

Finally, her eyes found the ladies who had spoken about the one mouse who could find her daddy. One of them, a fairly fancy lady in read cape and strange kind of hat on was nodding at a shorter and possibly older lady with a blue cape and bonnet on. The one in blue was speaking.

"And of course, you also must know how he must be feeling now. He might think of himself as some sort of an inconvenience for us. Poppycock, of course, but Mr. Basil's a proud man and all this is just…"

This one seamed to know Basil best, and for a few more moments, Olivia just stared. Should she ask? People didn't like it much when she would ask. But then, this could be her only shot. Maybe she should try. Worse it could happen would be that they would ignore her. But, she really needed to know. She waited so long already… Oh no! The lady was leaving! Well, it was now or never.

Folding the newspaper clipping back in her pocket, Olivia cried "Excuse me, ma'am?" before dashing after the lady in blue.

"Oh?" The lady exclaimed once she saw who called her.

"Please, excuse me, ma'am. But I happened to hear and I was… Do you know where Mr. –"

"YOU!"

Olivia wanted to cry, wanted to curse the heavens where she a little older, and she wanted to kick Constable Williams in the knee as she would often did! That man had made it his mission to make her life hard ever since she stole that bread from his lunch box (It wasn't her fault she was hungry! And it was only bread!). But how did the man manage to find her when she's been changing her search area every two weeks?

Bottom line was that now she was on the run again, running from Constable Williams, and also getting further and further away from the lady who could have told her where Basil was.

She definitely wanted to cry.

Several hours later found Olivia hid away in an alley, way away from the busy mouse streets of London. It was a fact that most mice did not felt like venturing into the realm of humans, even if that was often necessary in order to reach a certain destination. Still, that made the human world the perfect place for her to hide.

Or to soak in misery.

And since we were speaking of soaking: to make matters even better it started to rain. Rain when it was so close to Christmas…

"Achu!" Olivia sneezed. Rain kept coming down, harder with each passing minute, and despite her stubbornness, Olivia started to shiver. In vain she tried to convince herself that she was not cold, because she was. Her overcoat could not prevent the chills from settling in her bones, just how it couldn't prevent the water from reaching the skin beneath her fur.

In the distance, she heard bells ringing and a human choir singing. They seamed to be singing… carols. She liked carols – she used to sing them with her father. But she was not much in the mood for carols now.

_Hark how the bells, _

_sweet silver bells, _

_all seem to say, _

_throw cares away_

_Christmas is here, _

_bringing good cheer, _

_to young and old, _

_meek and the bold._

In fact, if she were to think about it, she saw no use in this whole Christmas thing. Why must people always sing such silly songs, decorate their houses in such a silly fashion … Why must people cut down trees, bring them in their house and put lightning on them? Why must they cook chestnuts on an open fire and read silly fairytales of flying reindeers and Father Christmas? Why must the whole family gather around and turn everything in something so big and silly and… warm and… precious…

_Ding dong ding dong _

_that is their song _

_with joyful ring _

_all caroling._

_One seems to hear _

_words of good cheer _

_from everywhere _

_filling the air._

_Oh how they pound, _

_raising the sound, _

_o'er hill and dale, _

_telling their tale._

She tried to cover her ears, to block the caroler's words from reaching her. She tried to run, to get away from it all. She tried to tell herself that she didn't want to sing silly songs like every body else. She tried to keep on saying that she didn't want to decorate the house or put a star on a silly old Christmas three. She tried so much to tell keep in mind that she didn't want to cook chestnuts on an open fire or to listen to silly fairytales of flying reindeer and Father Christmas. She tried to keep running, faster and further away from those ever-present lyrics! She tried to hell herself that she didn't like Christmas because there was no reason to celebrate! She tried… she tried so much to tell herself…

On on they send,

on without end,

their joyful tone

to every home…

Who was she kidding? She wanted all those things and more. She wanted to go home, where a fire would be burning in the heart and her father would be busy making toys. She wanted to decorate her own Christmas tree and wanted for her father to be there to help her with the stockings, just like that mother had helped her son with their tree.

Eventually, Olivia found a half-broken window discarded in an alley that she could use as shelter. It was nice not to feel raindrops fall on her and chill her to the bone. It would be better still if it would have been a warm fire around to dry and warm herself with. Or better yet: if it was sunny! That way it wouldn't be raining ether.

Olivia sat down and almost yelled as she heard a loud "CLANG!" As quick as a fiddle, she pulled out from her coat a toy lotus, brushed it off then – with a smile on her face – turned the key that was sticking out of one of it's petals a couple of times. Slowly, the flower turned into a beautiful ballerina, one that danced for little Olivia much like it did that night her father had given it to her. It made some odd sounds these days though, Olivia didn't much care.

As the ballerina finished the dance, Olivia turned her eyes towards the sky. She didn't even notice when the rain had stopped or when the clouds cleared the sky. But now that she did, she was able to notice that the first stars appeared. One of them shined particularly bright that night…

It was beautiful.

Suddenly, she heard crying. It sounded like it came from somewhere close by. She looked from one side to the other, but saw nothing. She got out from underneath the window, checking the alley. Eventually, her eyes found the form of a human child. It was crying – one saying 'it' because it was hard to tell from a mouse's point of view the gender of a child – and shivering, and it looked like it was hungry… and Olivia regretted she had nothing to give or do to make it feel better.

"Why did she have to leave me? Why?" it cried, though now Olivia was inclined to call it more a 'she'. "Papa doesn't know how to care for me… Why grandmother? Why… Oh? Where did you come from little one?" The child, definitely a girl judging by the voice, said as soon as Olivia came into view. "Are you lost too?"

The human girl extended a hand towards Olivia. Instinct told the mouse to run, instead, something else told her to stay. Still cautious though, she first sniffed the human's hands then slowly climbed on.

"You seem hungry, little mouse." The child said, digging into her skirts with her spare hand. She took out a cookie before splitting it in half. "Here. We can share my food. It's not much, but it's better then nothing. And as my grandmother said, as long as we still have air in our lungs and a will to go on, there's bound to be some good coming our way too. The angels are not blind, little mouse. We just need to wait and hope our prayers will reach them. You'll see."

They ate in peace, human seated on a box of crates, Olivia a little further away on a barrow. After they ate, they parted ways, both waving a friendly good-bye to the other. The human child, Olivia did not know where she was going, but Olivia just wondered around town for a while, eyes set on the sky more then the road. The human was right. After so much bad, something good had to happen.

Without thinking much, she brought her hands together, her eyes still fixed on the bright evening star.

Olivia wanted to believe that this one prayer she was sending to the heavens would be heard by an angel, for she prayed to find Basil, so that he could in turn find her father. She truly wanted to believe, but all she could really do was wait and hope.

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**Note: **The carol featured in this chapter is called _Carol of the Bells _and although I know everyone has his or her own opinions, the one I had in mind when writing this chapter was the one sang by Celtic Women

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_I know I am evil, and I apologize for that... but I put the whole blame on Charles Dickens and his addicting works. If you enjoyed the chapter despite all of it, feel free to leave a review in passing._

_Thank you. _


	3. Chapter 2: A time and place for everyone

**_A Winter's Tale_**

**Chapter 2: A time and place for everyone**

"And there will be pudding in the ice-room. Don't forget about the pudding dear. I worked on that batch for hours on end and it would be a shame if you forget about it as you did last year."

"Yes, madam."

"Also, I left you some cheese crumpets in the oven. You know, to keep them warm. And if you can manage the journey, I convinced Lady Ratchet from down the road to prepare some mince pie for you. Just knock on her door and say I sent you. She'll be more then pleased to give you some."

"Yes, madam."

"Now what else… Oh! Yes. I left some soup on the stove and you have potatoes and –"

"Yes, yes, yes, madam. I am fully aware of all the food you prepared for me and I appreciate it very much indeed, but I fear that if you won't hurry, you might lose your train."

Those seamed to be the magic words, for before one would be able to say "pudding", Mrs. Judson shushed about the food and started counting her bags, making sure she did not forget anything. A good thing too, for is she wouldn't have, she certainly would have forgotten about the presents for her nephews.

In all this time, one Basil of Baker Street couldn't help but role his eyes, a small smile on his lips.

"There!" Cried Mrs. Judson as she returned with two red and green colored boxes. "One for Isabella and another for Timmy. Finding that dolly for Izzy was no problem at all, but I fear Timmy won't much like those tin soldiers."

Basil sighted. "Mrs. Judson, I ask: what boy is that who wouldn't enjoy a box full of solders to frighten and torture the other household occupants with? And even if he won't, I'm sure he'll be pleased to simply have his favorite grandmother home for the holidays." He finished with a slight frown, his words causing his landlady to blush and giggle wholeheartedly. Apparently, she couldn't detect the sarcasm in them.

Just then, there was a call from outside, clear sign that Mrs. Judson's cabby was getting impatient.

"Oh, my! I am so late! I best get going, Mr. Basil." She said trying to gather as many boxes in her two short arms as she possibly could before dashing out the door to meet the impatient cabby.

From his seat in the by the fire, Basil sighted once again. Christmas was such a tiresome holiday, he thought, especially when his landlady got all excited like that. And whenever Mrs. Judson were to get excited, she always seamed to forget something … like that bag left most carelessly right in the middle of the room … the one that seamed to be _staring_ at him.

And she called him messy… He almost snorted at the irony at it all!

More amused then annoyed for now, Basil got down from his seat, wincing in pain as he straightened his back. It was not a pleasant experience these days – getting up, that is – but he treasured the thought that the proper function of his legs was enough to rid London of one of its most feared enemies.

Catching Professor Ratigan had proven itself to be a harder task then Basil had ever thought possible. He lost count of all the sleepless nights, of all the pain and sweat he was forced to endure to see to his eventual capture. And oh, what a capture it was…

Grabbing his cane from the side of his chair, Basil took a few hesitant steps until he became confident in his ability to remain upwards then slowly made his way to his landlady's forgotten bag. Something told him that she might need those things at some paint of her voyage, and judging from her reaction upon his arrival at her side, bag in hand, he was right.

"Oh, dear me! Thank you so much Mrs. Basil! I don't know what's wrong with me today."

"Oh, think nothing of it, Mrs. Judson. Anyone can be a bit more hectic from tie to time." He smiled as his landlady was counting her bags, making sure she hadn't forgotten anything else. Taking his eyes off her for a moment, he saw as the cabby seamed to be slowly counting the bricks on the walls. Wisely enough, Basil chose not to make any remarks on the matter. Instead, he decided to list the practical proprieties of cyanide – anything to get his mind off the silliness of the situation.

"There, finally done." Cried Mrs. Judson – Basil chose to ignore the cabby's cry of 'FINALLY!'… as best as he could, that is.

Cleaning herself up, Mrs. Judson turned to look at the sky, expecting to see at least a few snow drops hovering around. She was most disappointed with what she saw. "It looks like rain… Rain on Christmas Eve! Where is this world coming to? No snow on Christmas – it's practically sacrilegious!"

Basil nodded, though for all he cared that didn't make much of a difference.

"Do you think you will be comfortable, Mr. Basil? I hate thinking that I'm leaving you all by yourself, especially considering that it's Christmas."

"Madam, though your concern touches me, I assure you I will be fine. I may have become crippled but that does not make me an invalid. Plus, you left me with enough food to feed a battalion! There is no way that I will starve anytime soon."

The landlady blushed. Maybe she did get a little carried away in the food department. But that was not quite what she wanted to hear. Still, before she could utter another word, Basil pulled out a pocket watch, gently tapping it with the cane.

With a last bid of good-bye and a terribly awkward hug, Mrs. Judson was finally gone, leaving one Basil of Baker Street finally alone with only his thoughts and the never-fading pain for company.

"At least now she has someone other to mother and spoil."

Now back in his cozy sitting room, Basil practically threw himself back in his chair, much to the delight of his poor legs. Six months and it still hurt to move properly. Ratigan should be damn proud of himself – that fight between Basil and the Professor up in Big Ben was something nobody would ever be able to forget, the detective most of all.

_Or 'once-was-detective' _Basil thought with a cheerless smile.

Getting up with the same difficulty as before to throw another log on the fore, Basil took his time to remember how it got to this. Like most things concerning Ratigan, he found that it was terribly complicated … yet at the same time, incredibly unsurprising.

It all started with just a few days before the Queen's Jubilee. The Yard had just got a tip that some of Ratigan's tugs were seen at a certain pub in Westminster. Most unsurprisingly, Basil was asked to assist by a very grumpy Inspector Lestrade. No doubt that although the stern Inspector was confident that he and his men could handle this, he also knew that Basil was much more subtle when it came to these things. So just as unsurprisingly, Basil literally jumped at the opportunity to check just how accurate the information he was presented with was – all on his own.

Skillfully disguised as a local, he found to his great delight that Ratigan's men were indeed there, and it wasn't even like they were doing much of an effort not to be seen. Fidget, at least, tended to stand out like a sore finger! What puzzled him though was that they didn't seem to do much of anything – only getting drunk before promptly passing out due to poor use or perfectly good alcohol. Most intriguing, Basil thought at the time, before it had occurred to him that all this could very well be a diversion.

In his mind, he quickly thought up everything that was happening within a ten mile radius: preparation for the Jubilee, McMurfy was re-supplying his vintage stock and… Lin Pai was back to shipping illegal guns (if he recalled Vole's complaints from the previous day well).

In that one moment everything became quite clear! With a speed most would be jealous of – oh, how he missed the way he once could move – Basil changed his disguise and headed right towards the Chinese District. Much to his immense pleasure, he easily found Lin Pai's new 'shop', and to his even greater delight, there was one of Ratigan's henchmen, shaking hands with Lin Pai himself.

Basil smirked at the memory. The next few steps were so easy to take and so bloody _methodical _that they actually made Vole _happy_!

Purchasing a brand new pistol from Lin Pai proved to be ridiculously easy after the tug's departure. Comparing the bullet the new gun fired with the one he already had from a previous fight with the Napoleon of Crime was even easier – but much, much more satisfying – and seeing Vole's face brighten with glee could even be considered adorable… in a very twisted way. Bottom line of it all though was that the Yard was there when Ratigan's tug returned to Pai's shop to pick up his boss' order. Better yet: the tug was more then happy to share his boss' plan with them (as soon as Basil took over the interrogation, that is).

For a while, Basil and the rest of the Yard allowed Ratigan to think himself in control. His speech proved to have been quite interesting from a spectator's point of view, for that was all Basil chose to be for the moment. As for Ratigan… in his ignorance he failed to notice his smug face among the horror-filled ones of almost everybody else present in the room. Had he done so, he might have anticipated the gun fire from behind the curtains, the real Queen appearing and ordering each and every mouse in the room to size the fiend and he would have anticipated Vole stepping onto the platform, reading his rights. It was in the middle of all this that Ratigan's eyes finally found Basil, the detective smirking in absolute and irreproachable triumph.

That was when everything went down hill.

The flow of memories was rudely interrupted by the clock on the mental that chose that exact moment to announce that it was precisely eleven o'clock, roughly six months later, on the Eve of Christmas… with Basil as half as what he was.

"Confound it…" Basil muttered as he pushed himself to get up for the third time in a relatively short time span. His back and legs were basically screaming with pain by this point, but he didn't care much anymore. Remembering his earlier days made him wrestles, made him want to kick himself for running after Ratigan as he made for his escape and it made him want to kill himself for allowing the rat to surprise him… and nearly getting squished to death by the clockwork mechanisms of dear old Big Ben.

Shooting the professor's picture a dirty look, he turned on his heels and marched to the armor that usually worked as a rack for his coat and cap. Ah, yes … his dear, old inverts cape and most treasured deerstalker cap. It has been so long since the last time he had wore them…

Ever since the… '_accident' _Mrs. Judson wouldn't dare dream to leave him 'roaming the streets like some stray child'. Naturally, that did not went well with Basil, for three days later he was practically tearing up his fur due to cabin fever. Three broken tea cups, five confiscated pistols and several shattered pillows after that,Mrs. Judson agreed take him with him on a few errands just to un-stiff his legs, but they never made it far for fear that he would overexert himself.

Bah!

Blast that cursed doctor for filling his landlady's head full of gibberish! Who was he to tell her (and him) what was good for him? Who was he to say that he needed to stay _three blasted weeks _in bed? (He got off with just two) And who was he to say that he would have to use a _weal chair _for the rest of his days? That he would need to be _constantly supervised _from now on? The vermin didn't even seem to properly exanimate him and BAM: "crippled for life" was the diagnoses!

Luckily for everyone, Myerricroft put a stop to all that nonsense before Basil had the chance to strangle the doctor then and there. The eldest Basil was quick to point out that his brother was a stubborn fellow and that once he put his mind to something one shouldn't be surprised if he were to move mountains. All he needed was peace, quiet, plenty of rest, plenty of good food and (this is the part where he wanted to strangle his brother) no cases until he was back and running again on his own two legs.

His brother's 'do-it-yourself' solution didn't seem to go well with the doctor, prime reason why Basil was in favor of it, for the prospect of being mothered didn't bond all that well with him. But at that point Basil would have certainly moved mountains _not _to be put in a weal chair.

It was almost depressing to think how motivated he'd been…

Hesitantly, he touched the cape, feeling the all-too-familiar fabric between his fingers before sighing heavily. Almost six months and he was indeed pretty much back on his legs, but nowhere near to running again. He was pretty much starting to lose hope in that department, for no matter how much he waited, or how hard he tried, his feet simply wouldn't listen any more…

He snorted a laugh. The old Basil would have kicked him for thinking something like that! Scratch that – he would have done something much more damaging. Why, the old Basil was never that weak – he was strong, stubborn, resourceful and most importantly… he was him.

He paused for a moment, looking intensely at the cape. His gaze then shifted over to the window and eventually to his legs.

… _Why not?_

By the time he reached the end of Baker Street he decided that if asked, he would simply deny ever leaving the warm, cozy sitting room of his home. Imagine: a respectable mouse such as himself and in such a delicate condition to go out on such a cold winter's day, all alone on the streets of London? Why, he wouldn't dream of it! If his brother asked, however… he guessed he might get away with claiming he needed a breath of fresh air – because God! He really needed to get out!

… But only after softening him with a very heavy dose of whisky.

Pleased with his plan, he made way into mouse London, not at all surprised to find the main road packed with merchants and buyers of all kinds. Some were selling mistelow and ivy while other were buying holly and toys – and others were there just to sample some free wine. Clearly, Christmas was here and Basil barely resisted to role his eyes. He could never understand this holiday, nor why everyone seamed to go slightly mad around it. It was all such a waste of nerves and money.

For Basil, only two things seamed to be worth his attention at Christmas. First were the criminals – despite common knowledge, Christmas was the best time to spot wrong-doers for unlike any other time of the year, during the holidays they didn't even need to hide. Everyone was so busy with their own festivities that they didn't pay them any mind. But Basil always did, for he never had any festivities to distract him. Of course, this year he would have to settle for just sitting on a bench and observe. He was not a detective so long for nothing, after all. If he couldn't run after criminals anymore, then least he could do was to spot them out (and maybe report a few to that constable by the apple stand). Ether way, he'd polish his skills in the open for a change.

But all he saw was a few pick-pocketing children here and there whom he chose not to report to the constable on duty. It was not his job, after all, and… he guessed it was Christmas.

Which reminded him about the second thing he enjoyed about Christmas: listening to the carolers sing their carols, for no matter how much of a Scrooge he was (and was not afraid to admit it) music remained music and music was his passion. Plus, this particular group was awfully good.

_On this day earth shall ring  
__with the song children sing  
__to the Lord, Christ our King,  
__born on earth to save us;  
__him the Father gave us._

_Id-e-o-o-o, id-e-o-o-o,  
__Id-e-o gloria in excelsis Deo!_

"Sherringford?" A voice called from behind and Basil froze. For God's sake, please don't let that be Myerricroft! He didn't even have any whisky on hand! "My God! It really is you!"

… That didn't sound like Myerricroft. And the chubby mouse with the tick beard and mismatched clothes that jumped from behind, broad smile on his face, certainly didn't look like Myerricroft ether. Instead, now that he looked, this one looked and sounded a great deal like a certain other mouse he knew named –

"Stanton?" He asked in disbelief and to his immense surprise, the mouse smile grew even wider.

"The one and only!" Said the mouse most merrily, clapping a large hand on Basil's back. The detective tried his best to ignore the pain the friendly gesture caused him. Stanton didn't give him much time to recover though, for an instant later, the mouse was shaking his hand like he would with a long lost best friend. "Merry Christmas, old boy! How nice to see you after all these years. And on Christmas Eve, no less! Oh, my friend, Christmas t'is truly a time for miracles!"

Of 'miracles', Basil did not know, but it certainly seamed like a time for un-welcomed surprises. William Stanton, if memory served him right, was the biggest blabber-mouth he ever had the misfortune of meeting. All through-out university, Basil doubted he could keep a decent secret. After all, he knew for certain that the 'Christian fancies Daniella' rumor didn't start with Basil.

He so needed to find that bottle of whisky before nighttime.

"But just what happened to you, old boy? Stanton asked in undisguised wonder once he had taken a good look at the detective. "You look like some cat has been using you to compensate for the lack of catnip."

Basil was stunned for a moment. All of London knew what happened! How could -? Oh, right. He remembered now: Stanton was not in the habit of reading papers. Reluctantly, he told his old – well, couldn't call him 'friend' – _colleague_ a short sketch of his adventures. Needless to say, by the time he reached the ending, Stanton was most definitely stunned.

"Gods! Why you poor devil! But never threat. I know just what you need: a large pint of Coberwerg's finest mead. That will put you on your feet." He laughed joyfully at his own suggestion, a look of pure longing for the recently mentioned liquor already visible in his eyes. Basil didn't like that look. "And maybe we can also catch up on past times. Fancy that?"

_Absolutely not. _"As inviting as your proposal may be, I fear I must humbly decline, my dear Stanton. For now allow me to wish you and your dear fiancé this season's greetings." He nodded his head and moved to leave, until a still slightly baffled Stanton managed to ask.

"Just how did you know I was to marry?"

Basil grinned. "Elementary, my dear Stanton. I deduced it as easily as I deduced your visit to the post office earlier today and the brand of butter beer you consumed the previous evening. Also, you look like you still pretty much have a terribly bad hand in cards." He paused. "Some things never chance, do they, Stanton?"

Stanton simply stood there, mouth gapping and eyes nearly popping in disbelief. Basil grinned. He secretly loved it when he had that effect on people… oh, and how good it felt to be back to how old aloof self again!

"Blimey, man. I'll never quite figure out how you do that!" Stanton cried. "Reading fine blocked like the books you were so addicted to… Won't you tell me your secret? Consider it a Christmas present from you to me?"

He couldn't help but laugh. "My dear, Stanton, secrets are not cheap. If you're willing to learn the secret to my profession, I suggest you start from the bottom and find your way to the top. No master will willingly offer experience to the inexperienced."

Stanton shot him a rather strange look. "You know, that is the second time this day I hear those exact words coming from the mouths of a person I have yet to see in years. You two haven't met once before yet failed to mention, have you?"

Basil eyes him pointedly. "What are you on about?"

"Doctor David Dawson. Friend of the family for a while, but haven't seen him since he was sent in Afghanistan. I met the bloke earlier by a pub. Was searching for new lodgings, from what I gathered. He seamed to have gotten in a row with his landlord if I remember well, so he's basically homeless. Lives down at a hotel for the moment but his pension won't be able to cover the expenses any longer."

Never heard about the mouse in his life, but just to humor Stanton, Basil pretended to be recollecting every single name he ever heard throughout his lifetime. "Dawson, Dawson… No, I know no Dawson. That is, until I'll lay eyes on him."

"Of that I'm sure." Stanton said before his face seamed to light up in unexpected realization. "Say, Sherringford?" Grrr… He hated it when people called him by his first name … "You know if they're any rooms for rent around your place? David needs some place to stay after New Years day and I promised to keep an eye out for ads and the such."

'_The such'. _Normally, Basil would simply ignore him and walk away as if it were the most normal thing in the world. For obvious reasons though, that wouldn't do this time. It was hard for things to seem natural to him with two crippled legs and the pain was getting a bit hard to ignore.

But a sly little idea made way into his head. Another face to have around would certainly make life for him and Mrs. Judson easier. There always was a broken lamp or quick errand that needed running… And since Stanton said the chap was a doctor maybe… He gazed at his aching legs in thought.

"I don't know." He answered tightly. "My landlady does have a spare bedroom that is still for rent at a relatively reasonable price, but it would all depend on what kind of person this friend of yours is."

"Oh, I can tell you all you need to know about David! Well, let's see… He's British, that's for certain and a rather fine one at that as well. He's the proper gentlemen, always saying 'please' and 'thank you', bowing down to ladies and the sort. Something like your opposite or… No, that came wrong… But all in all, he seamed a fine enough chap to me."

In other words, a perfectly normal, perfectly _dull_ kind of person.

"If you want, I can send him over for you to properly meet him. Maybe you'll actually find yourself with a room mate before the year's at an end."

_Seriously doubt it_. This chap would have to be desperate to share rooms with him, that much was certain, but in light of an old saying he was once terribly fond of: it never hurt to try.

"Excellent!" came Stanton's reply. "I will get to him as soon as I'm able! Thank you so much, old boy! And Merry Christmas!" He moved to go before stopping. Must have forgotten something. Nothing too surprising. Stanton would _always _forget something. "By the way, old boy… where do you live?"

He could not remember the last time he laughed so hard. Seriously! He simply couldn't. There were several minutes after he bid Stanton farewell and he was _still _chuckling to himself. Oh, dear old Stanton… How lucky he must be to live in such blissful ignorance.

"Silly old thing, that's what you are, Stanton." (And he could swear he heard Stanton's voice yelling out something along the lines of 'I'm not old!') Maybe going out today had been a good idea after all. And even if it would cost his an entire bottle of whisky to keep his brother from tearing his to shreds, it would still be worth it.

He checked his pocket watch and decided that he could stay for another carol. And good choice too, for the next one the carolers picked was one of his absolute favorites.

_God rest ye merry, gentlemen,  
__Let nothing you dismay,  
__For Jesus Christ our Savior  
__Was born upon this day,  
__To save us all from Satan's power  
__When we were gone astray:_

_O tidings of comfort and joy,  
__comfort and joy,  
__O tidings of comfort and joy._

Suddenly, he felt something cold land on his nose. He jerked back, startled for a moment, until the same coldness touched his right ear, then his nose again, and eventually, he noticed: it started snowing.

_In Bethlehem, in Israel,  
__This blessed Babe was born  
__And laid within a manger  
__Upon this blessed morn  
__The which His Mother Mary  
__Did nothing take in scorn:_

_O tidings of comfort and joy,  
__Comfort and joy,  
__O tidings of comfort and joy_

Snowflakes of all shapes and sizes were now falling from the sky. First small, then larger, and larger, until Basil almost feared he would be covered by them all. Fact which was not that far from the truth, for once he averted his eyes from the sky he found he was now covered with a thin layer of snow. Without much thought, he brushed it. At least Mrs. Judson would not be complaining about lack of snow this Christmas. And from what he gathered, nether did the children, for in seconds the street practically filled itself with children (as well as their parents who were yelling at them to at least get a sweater on). All this time, the carolers kept singing their song:

_From God our Heavenly Father  
__A blessed Angel came;  
__And unto certain Shepherds  
__Brought tidings of the same:  
__How that in Bethlehem was born  
__The Son of God by Name.  
__O tidings of comfort and joy,_

_Comfort and joy  
__O tidings of comfort and joy_

Tightening his coat around himself, he turned his back to the merchants and carolers, heading back to the warmth of his sitting room. Snow was best enjoyed when indoors, if you asked him.

"Please sir?" a small, timid voice called. For a moment, he was not sure if the words were addressed to him. Still, it was hard to have any doubts after his eyes caught site of the little girl in front of him, all dressed in a fading blue overcoat and pale blue scarf, both much too light a wear for this time of the year, looking at his with leading eyes. In her small hands was a worn-looking peace of paper – a newspaper clipping from what he could see – with which her fingers were fidgeting with. "I… I don't know where I am. Please, you think you could –?"

"There you are!" A voice boomed from a side, causing both the girl and Basil to jump. The voice belonged to a constable whose name Basil couldn't quite remember, but a constable who looked dead-set on catching the little girl that had just addressed him (if her sudden disappearance from Basil's side was much of a clue as to it all). "Wait! Stop in the name of the law!"

For some reason, Basil found it hard to stomach the idea that such a phrase was used on a child.

"Hold on a minute constable!" he called just as the mouse was about to run past him. "Just what are the child's crimes?"

The constable turned to glare at him, yet the look was short lived. Upon recognizing Basil (for what member of the Yard was he who did not know Basil?) he instantly adopted his best 'at your service, sir!' look.

"Mr. Basil, sir. I am so sorry, sir. I did not see you there." He shuttered and Basil tried to hide his smirk. Six months absence and two crippled legs and he still could have that effect on people. This day was just getting better and better. "Did that nuisance give you any trouble, sir? She has almost everyone else. Been trying to catch her for weeks, I have sir. But the slimy thing is like water, she is. Always getting away through my fingers, the peasky stray."

Now that was strange. To him, the child seamed lost and probably only in the need of some directions. She certainly didn't look like a street child, not like most of the ones he knew. Maybe she one of those children that considered it highly adventurous to run away from home – until they would see just how much they would miss their mother and father. Why would one who wanted to get home cause so much trouble?

Soon enough, the constable left, muttering to himself that he couldn't believe he lost the child again. _Too bad he couldn't linger a moment longer_, Basil thought as soon as he caught sight of the 'pesky stray' peaking from behind a crate of nuts. She looked around for a moment, searching for the constable no doubt.

"Say, young lady?" he called in what he hoped was a friendly voice, but much to his surprise, the girl jumped, looking at him with fearful eyes before taking off. The girl must have thought that he was planning to hand her in, no doubt.

Well, nobody could accuse him for lack of trying. And helping out lost children was not his business to begin with. But just what did… ? Oh, sweet heavens! What was that idiot child doing? She was running straight toward the tunnel towards human London!

"Young lady! Stop! Don't go there! Miss!" She didn't listen. _Damn! _

Old instincts die hard, and before actually taking time to reason, Basil dashed after her, uncaring to listen to the protests his legs were giving. That idiot child was close to getting herself killed, for goodness sake! And now she was running straight into the street, slipped on a peace of ice and sliding towards… the busy… London… road…

… Scratch that: she was _definitely _getting herself killed!

"Confound it, girl! Look out!" He cried, slightly panicked and with reflexes he did not knew he still possessed, jumped and pulled her back to the sidewalk, just as a human cart was about to squash the child. The effort proved to be a bit too great for him though, for a moment later, both he and the girl he now held came tumbling down.

For a long while, all both could do was stare at the human vehicles as they passed from left to right and vice-versa. Basil could feel his heart threatening to jump out of his chest and it quite unnerved him how he was the one completely out of breath while the child (who nearly died!) seamed to be quite content simply sitting in his lap. Hesitantly though, she turned her head to look at him, a confused expression playing on her face. It was like she could not understand what was happening. Ah! Post-traumatic shock – that had to be it.

"Sir, what are you doing? You could have been squashed by that cart."

… _Why of all the cheek! _

The look Basil gave the child could have frozen hell. 'What are you doing?' indeed! _She _was the one nearly squashed to dead and he's the one getting lectured? Did this child know nothing? Or was it that she did all this just to annoy him? Why, if he were this child's father he would have a good mind to take her over his knee then and there.

"I just saved your miserable excuse for a life and this is the thanks I get? Lectures?" He growled out. The child shrank away in fear at his tone, attempting to escape his grasp. _Oh, not so fast! _Basil of Baker Street was not one to let such imprudence slide.

"I am sorry to inform you of this, child, but you're not going anywhere until I had a proper chat with you."

But first: get off the cold stone pavement. Problem: …where was that cane?

"Have you seen my cane?"

Maybe he could have phrased that differently, for obviously the girl took things the wrong way. She started trashing most violently, crying so loud that Basil though he might go deaf.

"Confound it! Calm yourself!"

"Please sir!" She pleaded, tears in her eyes. "I didn't mean to. I swear, I didn't. please don't hit me, sir! Please, sir!"

Basil mentally swore. How he hated how some parents disciplined their children. The use of a cane especially made his stomach turn. "Child, stop this immediately! I am not going to cane you!" _I am not like those monsters. _

The trashing stopped and the girl looked up again. "You won't?" she asked timidly. Basil rolled his eyes.

"No, child, I will not. It is not my place to do so. Now, are you calm?" A hesitant nod in confirmation. "If I let you go, will you do something drastically foolish like running in the middle of a busy street?" A quick shake of the head. "Good." With that, he released her, but the child did not get up. Instead, she merely looked at him like he was the most fascinating thing in the world. Quite unnerving really.

"If you are done staring at me, would you mind helping me locate my cane? I would like to get up now, if you don't mind."

The girl's eyes traveled to his aching legs before she flushed bright scarlet. Muttering another apology, she looked around. Soon enough though, she stood up and pointed at something… broken… in the street… his cane…

Basil threw his head in his hands, groaning miserably. He may have hated that bloody cane with a passion, true, but…

"I'm sorry sir! Really sir, I am! I did not knew it was a special cane for you. Had I known, I… I am still sorry sir." came that voice again and Basil had to fight to keep back from shouting profanities at the child. He was just about fed up with apologies! "I truly am sir! Do…" she licked her lips. "Do you want me to go out there and get what's left of it for you?"

Slowly listing his head from his hands, Basil stared at the child in front of him. She did not just… Suddenly, he felt a strong urge to march the brat over to the constable just to be sure the child didn't bloody become a walking danger to _herself_!

"You will do nothing of the sort!" He barked, struggling to get to his feet (not as easy as it would seem, but he succeeded ether way). "Confound it, child, do you want to get yourself killed? For firewood? That cane is of no use to anyone in that state and it certainly isn't worth the life of an individual – even if it weren't broken! Gods, child, grown mice don't come out of crossing a busy road alive and you dared to imagine that a minuscule creature such as yourself would?"

He earned a glare from the girl at the 'miniscule' comment.

"I'm fast!" the child stated, causing Basil to smirk. So she was not denying that she _was _small.

"Of that I have no doubt. You couldn't have averted that constable long enough to ear yourself place in his list of 'ten things to do before I die'. This particular constable is known to be a rather quick individual when it comes to pursuit and capture."

Pure and simple confusion was the only thing that currently played on the girl's face. He translated into smaller words.

"You just outran one of the fastest constables Scotland Yard has to offer. Believe me when I say that such a small facts says a lot about an individual." The girl had the audacity to look proud at those words. "But enough of my cane. I assure you it can easily be replaced – especially since you'll be doing it for me."

The smile washed away from the child's face almost immediately. She didn't think she'd get away that easy, did she? "You, young lady, cost me a cane and thus you now owe me one."

Now the child looked positively horror-struck. She couldn't still think that he was going to beat her, did she?

"But –" she tried to say, but the words didn't come. She started trembling and Basil was feeling a bit uneasy. He did not know how to handle children when they were happy, least of all when they were distressed. "I haven't any money, sir."

… Ah. So that's what it was all about. "Well, judging by your attire it hardly comes as a surprise. But I am certain your parents must have something. A cane is hardly worth anything these days and if your parents were able to provide you with clothes like those at some point of their lives, then certainly –"

He was unable to finish his sentence though, for the girl's eyes brightened instantly and before he had the chance to register what was happening, the girl ran to him, clutching the sleeves of his cape in delight. She looked close to hugging him for reasons Basil was still not aware of, and that terrified him.

"Do you know where my daddy is?"

… _Come again? _"What _are _you on about?"

"Oh, sir, please tell me so! I've been looking for so long! I tried everything, but nobody would help. I tried looking for him myself but… Please tell me where to find him. Please sir! Please!"

… Clearly, this child was not one that ran away from home.

"I beg you, sir! I'm scared for him. Ever since he was taken away by that mean old bat I've been searching day and night. Please sir! Tell me where he is!"

So many things were adding up now, and quite unsurprisingly, Basil felt weary upon his conclusion. As gently as possible, he detached her hands from his cape, much to the child's confusion. Basil… truly did not know what to say for a long time.

"I am sorry to have given you the wrong impression, child. I… do not know where your father is." Much to his dismay, the child's gave fell to the ground, tears once again filling up her eyes. Gods, did Basil feel awkward. How did one handle children in this one's situation? He didn't think he had ever been in such a situation even when he was…

A sudden thought found way into his head. Once upon a time, he was a detective that did the impossible. He had come to the conclusion of gruesome murders, outwitted blackmailers and solved baffling disappearances. He knew that some things could not be as before but… Just maybe...

"But then again…" he started and the girl's eyes rose to look at him, though she still looked every inch as miserable as before. "I do believe that I have a little free time today. If you wish, maybe I can find a way to help."

Those seamed to be the magic words for the girl's eyes sparkled with hope. "Truly sir?"

Basil simply shrugged. "Blame the Christmas spirit, but I feel like being useful today." He finished with a wink. The girl giggled.

"But what about your cane, sir? Don't you need it?"

"I'm sure I can handle standing until I reach home to find a proper substitute. It's not far from here and maybe there you'll be able to tell me more about what happed. That way we might be able to plan our next move."

"Oh, I already know what to do, sir. But only if you agree, sir."

Hastily, she pulled out the peace of paper from earlier and handed it to him. Much to Basil's surprise, it was indeed a newspaper clipping as he had deduced – but it was a clipping on one of his old cases.

He looked at the child who suddenly found her feet terribly interesting. "Do you think we can go see Mr. Basil of Baker Street, sir? The paper said that he solved a 'baffling disappearance'. I'm not sure what 'baffling' is, but that sounds like something big. Maybe he could find daddy if I asked nicely."

He couldn't help it. Really he couldn't. The coincidence was simply too great. Basil laughed, and he laughed hard. So hard in fact that his insides hurt.

"I am terribly sorry, my dear." He said, finding it difficult not to plunge into a whole new fit of laughter at the face she made. "Fate just had a terribly twisted sense of humor at times. But in all seriousness now, you shouldn't listen to papers. They tend to exaggerate beyond all reason. Take this one for example. True, the case was a challenge but the disappearance was by no means 'baffling'. Though one thing over another, I do believe that it was one of my most well-known cases… And my client did reward me most handsomely, though as far as I remember, he hardly asked me nicely."

Realization washed over the girl, her mouth a perfect o. Basil gave the paper back, which she accepted numbly. Then, making an effort to regain her voice, tried to say: "You… You're…"

The mouse in front of her gave out a small bow. "Basil of Baker Street at your service, my dear lady. Now, if I may know the name of my new client…?"

"Olivia, sir!" The little girl cried, barely resisting the urge to jump and hug the man in front of her. "Olivia Flaversham. And could you…" She hesitated, but Basil's warm smile encouraged her to go on. It was now or never. "Could you find my daddy, sir? Please?"

The man appeared to be in deep thought for a moment, but Olivia knew that he was merely teasing her.

"Oh, why not?" He said at last. "After all, a case after all this slaking around will do me good. Plus, you did say 'please'."

* * *

**Note: **The carols featured in this chapter are called _Personent hodie _(also known as _On this day the earth shall ring_) and _God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen_.

* * *

_I had fun - almost too much fun writing this one, despite the fact that out of all this story's chapters, this one seems as the most tragic. And another thing: I have no idea why I enjoy the idea of having Basil ether ill of hurt in my stories - I just do. And if you happened to like this chapter, I would certainly appreciate if you'll leave behind a little review._


	4. Chapter 3: A tale to tell

_**A Winter's Tale**_

**Chapter 3: A tale to tell again and again**

By the time they reached Basil's home at lower 221B Baker Street, the detective was practically drained. He was cold, his legs were aching, his back was hurting, his head felt like it was filled was water and little Miss Olivia Flaversham was not helping one single bit.

"It's been forever, Mr. Basil. Do think he's still in London? I do hope he is. I mean, London is big – much bigger then our little town in Scotland, but it's not that big, and if daddy's in the city, then there are chances he might be found before tomorrow. Oh, Mr. Basil, it would be the best Christmas gift ever!"

He sighted. He reasoned that it was a little too late to back up on his word now. Let this be a lesson to him however: never offer help to a miserable six-year-old on Christmas Eve, no matter how much you pity it at the moment. No doubt, there will come a time in the immediate future when you'll be giving the world a reason to pity _you_.

But the time for regrets will come another time. Right now he had work to do.

He took off his cape and throwing it back on the suit of armor before moving to retrieve his favorite robe. For some reason, he could always think better while wearing that thing. And yes, he knew it sounded silly to have a bathrobe act as a catalyst, but whatever worked… just worked. And quite frankly, he didn't care.

"Wow! Look at all these things!" Olivia exclaimed, eying some of his little inventions. She seamed particularly intrigued in his pipe smoker. "This one does the smoking for you! Dad would love to see this. He's something of an inventor. Did you make these, Mr. Basil? Are you an inventor?"

Gods, that girl should consider running for Parliament one day. She certainly was annoying enough to pass as an active member.

"So what are we going to do now, sir?" she asked, finally tearing her eyes away from his inventions. "Start looking around London after you find another cane? If we do, we should move fast. It will get dark in a couple of hours."

… _Good grief! _"I do believe that such a course of action is nothing less of inappropriate given our current situation. As far as I gather, you have already used the same method for a considerable amount of time and it had gotten you nowhere near to finding your father."

Olivia looked at him blankly. Basil rubbed his forehead. Simple words it was then.

"London is too big for just two people to search it and expect to find just one lost father. What we need to do is narrow things down a bit. For that, I will be in the need of data, and as much as possible. Now, I am going to be sitting in this chair here –" he pointed at his favorite armchair and made a point to take a seat "– and rest my legs for a bit. Meanwhile, you will tell me everything that happened to your father. And be sure not to let anything out. The slightest detail might represent the most vital of clues."

The girl's mouth had once again taken that annoying 'o' shape. No doubt the thought had not crossed the girl's mind. But she recovered quickly, beginning her tale. She was halfway through it when Basil noticed she was shifting her wait from one foot to another. Clearly, this child was tired, but chose not to inform Basil of the fact from one reason at another. At the beginning, the detective found her efforts as quite an admirable attempt, but after a while it became simply annoying.

"Child, if you are tired you are more then welcome to sit down." Basil stated matter-of-fact. He did not like it when Olivia stared again, once again with those big, _confused _eyes of hers.

"But wouldn't I dirty your things then?" She motioned at her attire, which - truth being told - wasn't the cleanest Basil had ever seen. Still, the idea of a child thinking about the difference between clean and dirty bothered him. He may not know much about their species, but from what he could remember from his own childhood, he knew that 'dirty' was _never_ an issue.

_Just what is wrong with this child? _

"The state of my flat shouldn't trouble you, Miss Flancersten." He stated slowly and clearly as if he were speaking to an child.

… What was he thinking? Of course he was speaking to a child!

"It's Flaversham." The girl corrected, a little annoyed. Aha, so the girl still had some fight in her, after all. Basil made sure to keep that little fact in mind for future references.

"Yes, whatever." He tried to sound bored as he said that, much like he did whenever he was brushing off some un-important formality. He became quite pleased with himself when he saw the girl glare. "But the bottom line of this is that, for the moment, you are a guest in my house, and as a guest, it is your privilege to sit when in the present of your host (that 'host' being me, you silly child! So stop looking around like some confused chipmunk!) … whenever you feel the need to. So please, do sit down before you fall over. It would be much more troublesome if I will have to pick you off the ground."

The girl nodded and took a seat crossed-legged on the floor. Basil raised an eyebrow at that, but decided to say nothing. If the girl felt comfortable on the floor, then it wasn't his business to say otherwise.

He cleared his troth. "So, back to where we were. You were saying that after you managed to get out of the cupboard, you found the toyshop vandalized and no trace of your father or his attacker." The girl once again nodded. "Has anything been taken? Maybe, something you knew to have meant something important for ether you or your father – but most especially your father?" A shake of the head on her part. A raised eyebrow on his. "Has anything at all been taken?" Another shake. Interesting…

"Only broken." She supplied. "Toys and jars and windows."

"Most likely from the struggle." Basil said, filling up his pipe with tobacco. This certainly sounded like an interesting puzzle. "Did you… know if your father had any enemies? Or, people who didn't always have his best interests at heart?"

Another shake of the head. "No sir. Everyone I knew liked my daddy. There was Mrs. Filth whom daddy owed a couple of pounds that always seamed to glare at us when we passed her flower shop, but I don't think she'd do something like this. Daddy did promise he would fix her cabinet to pay his debt."

_Hmm… _So no enemies – or at least none of which the girl had any knowledge of. And no robbery from the looks of things ether. This could only mean one thing though.

"Was your father particularly gifted in a certain field of work?" Silence. "Was he _brilliant _at anything in particular?"

Olivia seamed to think for a while at that one. She was quite a comical sight when she did that in fact, Basil noted with spark of amusement – that with her tongue sticking out at a corner of her mouth and everything.

"Well…" she started at long last. "He was very good at making toys. I mean, _is_." In Basil's opinion, she corrected herself a bit too quickly. "Every time around Christmas he would work long after I went to bed and in the morning, he was still not finished. That's how many people bought his toys." She sounded proud when saying that, and with slightly trembling hands, she dug into a pocket, pulling out a mouse-sized lotus. She rushed with it over to Basil and the detective, not fully understanding her, took the flower in his hands for closer inspection. Upon doing so, he noticed a little key sticking out.

Curious, he looked at Olivia, whose eyes seem to say 'have a go'. He then slowly turned the key a couple of times until the flower emitted a soft, abet somewhat rusty, sound that sounded strangely familiar. What happened next though almost made his jaw drop. The flower had turned into a little mouse ballerina, one that moved, one that _danced_ in such a fashion that is suited the music most perfectly.

"My daddy made this for me." The child's words were spoken in such a low tone that Basil almost didn't catch them. "It was a present for my birthday… He… gave it to me the day he went away…"

'_The day he went away…' _Gods, how this child made him feel so guilty when he didn't do _anything_ was beyond him. But maybe that was just it… The fact that he wasn't _doing_ anything! But then what was he doing now? Last he checked he _did _try to help this child. Didn't he?

… Lord Above! He was _never _going to help children ever again! Just figuring them out made his bloody head hurt!

"Yes, quite…" He knew that it wasn't the finest line he could use, but the situation was already awkward enough as it was. "So now, let's get back to facts. Do you recall anything concerning your father's attacker? Height? Fur color? The size of his muzzle?" It was best if he just stuck to routine.

"Well, donno. I know he was a bat with big bat-like wings." _Oh yes… After all, a bat is capable of growing such a large variety of wings. _"His eyes were big and… I think they were red. And he wore a driver's cap, blue sweater and had a pent leg."

… _Say what? _Butit was impossible! Fidget has been locked up for the last six months!

"Child, do you remember if that bat also had a crippled wing?" Basil asked in haste, only to be answered with another blank stare. Oh, how he wished to shake that child right then! "Did he have a wing which at some point of his sorry life may have been _broken_?"

"I don't know. He seamed fine enough." Of course! She was a child! How could he expect her to notice such a thing? "Why do you ask, sir? Do you know him?"

Basil chose to ignore those hopeful eyes for now in favor of thinking things over. Now how could Fidget kidnap a mere toymaker when he was spending a most pleasant Christmas _behind bars? _And _why? _This didn't make sense!

Unless of course… Hmm… The fake queen Ratigan had used looked most live-like and exceptionally well-made. Basil did wonder how the rat build it on several occasions, for as brilliant as the Professor could be, he was no inventor. But now, after what he learned from this child Basil wondered…

He looked at the toy ballerina in his hands. It sounded terribly hard to believe, but once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth! (1)He only needed to be certain…

"Child, can you remember when this happened? What was the day on which your father has been abducted?"

"Erm…" The child blushed, and if she was going to tell him that she didn't knew how to tell the difference between the days yet he would not be held responsible for his actions (may Mrs. Judson forgive him if a room would be lost in the process). "I forgot the day…" Chemical set it was then. "But I know everyone was talking about the Queen's Jubilee the day before, and a party took place at the palace the day after. Does that help?"

… No chemical set then.

"Immensely, my dear." Basil cried, jumping off his seat. "And concerning your previous question which I know I have yet to answer: yes, I may just know that bat. As far as it is known, that certain bat goes under the name of Fidget and has been for a very long time one of Professor Ratigan's most fateful lackey." Without much haste, but with much anticipation for what it was to come, he searched for a spare cane, but only found an old walking stick his brother had forgotten during one of his past visits. Basil still didn't know how such a thing was possible though… The man had the memory of an elephant! But no matter. The walking stick would have to do, even if it looked like it would break at any minute.

"Where are you going sir?" Olivia cried as he was putting on his coat. "Are you going to find my daddy now? Are you sir? Do you know where he is, sir?"

Remind him again why he decided to help this now bouncing bundle of energy?

"Child, learn the meaning of the word 'patience', please!" The child drew back at his sharp tone, but that look in her eyes had yet to die down. Basil continued. "Finding a lost person is a difficult job, and even while I was in the best of health I could not work miracles. And I've been out of practice for quite a long time. Be sure to keep that in mind." Reluctantly and somewhat disappointed, Olivia nodded. "Good. Now, I may have stumbled upon a valuable lead. With luck, after this small journey, I will be one step closer to finding your father."

Once, he would have assured her that he would most certainly find him – and quite soon, in fact. But he had learned not to be so overconfident in himself. Look what that brought him last time! And plus: if he were to rise this child's hopes up too high and fail afterwards… He rather not think about that.

"So, where are you going sir?"

"To Scotland Yard, my dear lady. As useless as that lost is most of the time, you'll find that even they could turn out to be helpful from time to time." Not to mention that a visit down there was long overdo ether way.

"Wait! I'm coming too!" The child said, running to the door. _Oh, you most certainly were not! _

"Cease and desist, young lady! You will not touch that door!" Basil's tone was harsh, maybe even a little harsher then he would have liked, for the child obeyed – worrisomely well. "I did not mean for you to stop moving completely, child." Basil said then, his voice much softer then before. Awkwardly, he approached her and put his hands on her shoulders. Children respond well to touch, don't they? He used to respond rather well to touch when he was in a particularly bad mood. "But you must know that Scotland Yard is not a place suitable for children. Most of the people there will ether be criminals, or very rude constables who by this time are ether half-drunk or simply half-out of it." The child snorted at that, and Basil fought the urge to stare. That proved to be a particularly hard task however, and he would have called it quits were it not for the fact that he could feel the young girl tremble beneath his fingers. He frowned.

"Child, are you cold?" A nervous look came at him in return. "You're trembling all over."

"N-no sir. I am fine." The child tried to say, but Basil's hand had already found way to her forehead.

"You feel a bit warm to me." Something else had occurred to him. "And why are your clothes damp? Goodness grace, child, you could have caught your death walking around town in this state! And let me be clear: the police surgeon does not take kindly to seeing the corpse of a child on his table during the holidays."

With graceful moves, he swept off the child's hat, scarf and overcoat, duping them on the arm of his red armchair.

"Right. Now, off the floor and on the chair. I will not have you catch pneumonia while under my watch. I shall be back with something to warm you up."

Five minutes later, with hot tea on the tray, Basil found Olivia standing in the middle of the room, frame shaking slightly from fatigue and cold and holding on to her little toy.

"Oh, for pity's sake, girl! What's so hard about getting on a chair?" Basil growled out, placing the tea tray on the table with a loud 'clang!'

Before Olivia even had the chance to properly flitch at the sound, he found herself hauled up by her underarms and unceremoniously dumped on his behind on the chair. While the hands lifting him had taken care not to hurt her, the action was so abrupt she let out a squeak of surprise. This was followed far too quickly by a wave of dizziness so strong that Olivia reached out instinctively to steady herself.

When her head settled, her opened his eyes to discover she was clutching the detective's shirt sleeve. The man was watching her with the up most of interest, much like one would a specimen under a microscope. _Scary… _Olivia blushed and withdrew her hand, but refused to look away. She would not show weakness in front of anyone, no those bums on the street, not Constable Williams, and certainly not Basil.

"So I have to add the deprivation of nutriments to your growing list of shortcomings, now do I?" Olivia stared. He translated into smaller words. "You haven't been eating. You shouldn't have become dizzy unless you were deprived of the nourishments any child your age is entitled to have." He sited and rand a hand through his locks. "Just what has your mother been doing with you?"

This time, Olivia did look away. "I don't have a mother." She replied softly.

Basil would have fallen off his feet there and then were he not able to catch onto the mantle in the last minute.

"You are… But then – ? How?" _Come now, man, get a grip on yourself! _After calming down a bit, he tried again. "I am… sorry about that, Miss. I was not aware of your situation. But then who are you living with then?"

The child gave him a strange look. "Nobody sir. I live home alone. The shop my be empty now because the thieves took everything… I didn't know how to fix the windows… But the flat's still there. As long as I lock the door and pretend I'm not home nobody bothers me." She turned the doll a bit in her hands. "I used to be staying with a family once, then with a couple and another lonely woman – but I couldn't afford to say with them much. They asked for too much money, and my savings were running out. I barely have something left –" she pulled out a couple of sixpence from her pocket "– to pay you, sir."

… That… surprised him.

"You're telling me that you've been on your own… for the past _six months?_" he cried incredulously.

"Not really alone, sir. As I said, I've been with people –"

"Perfect strangers you mean!" This time he sounded exasperated. "Girl, have you no sense of self-preservation? Don't you have relives out there to be with? Grandparents? Uncles? Aunts? Cousins? Even neighbors if not anything else?"

"We've moved in recently. All the people I know live back in Scotland, and I didn't have enough money to get there. Besides, I had to find you."

Basil growled. "Task which took you six months to complete. Why did you not speak with the police? Surely they would have done something to help you. And it's not like it's so difficult to find one of them."

"They'd just send me to an orphanage like that man once did." _Marvelous! A child with preconceptions concerning the authorities!_ "I couldn't stay in an orphanage sir!"

"Wait… You say you also _ran away_ from an orph-"

"I am not an orphan! My daddy's not dead! He's just there! Somewhere in this city, taken by a bat, and nobody will listen to me! I am not making this up! My daddy is out there and you have to find him! If you don't…" he voice broke "… then nobody else will. Because nobody believes me."

Oh, what to do? The child sounded honest enough… And she was _crying_ now! But still…

"Nobody believes me…"

Oh, to hell with it all!

"Don't cry child. I'm sure that's not true. Why –" _Ok, Sherringford, no shuttering now. Just say it and be done with it. _"I believe you. And that must count for something, no?"

Basil waited, practically holding his breath, until the girl's cries diminished.

"You do?" She asked, wiping some tears.

"Yes, yes, of course I do. I did promise to help you find you father, did I not? And you'll find that I am a man to stick to my word."

"So… You'll find my daddy?"

_Patience, man… _"Yes, I will find you daddy."

"Pinky swear?" she asked then, holding out her middle finger.

… _Say what again? Oh, for the love of humanity! Who did this child think he was? Fine, fine, just humor the little whelp for now. _"Very well. Pinky swear." He did not know why the smile she gave him while their fingers touches seamed to matter so much.

Almost an hour later, Basil was finally making his way over to Scotland Yard. He never dreamed that it would be so hard to convince a child to drink tea and taste a couple of scorns. His young guest looked like skin and bones to begin with! Basil so hoped that she wasn't anemic or anything too serious… but thinking things over, he wouldn't put it past her.

_Six months!_

It troubled him greatly when he learned that everything happened way back in June, even more so when he heard that she was _alone _for such a long time. The story about living with one family or another – he wasn't sure if it was true, but even if it was, he doubted those people did more then provide her with a roof over her head and a bed, and even he knew that so much couldn't qualify as home. But really now, we're talking about six months! Had nobody saw fit to help this child? He found it hard to believe that there wasn't at least one soul in this whole city who would offer assistance to a child who asked for it. What had happened to this child for the past couple of months?

Well, one thing was certain: she had been heavily deprived of food, warmth and sleep. After finally convincing her that he will not get mad for drinking tea and eating scorns, the child practically devoured the whole plate (and he made enough to last for five!). After making a second batch though, the girl started to calm down a bit, looking sleepier with every snip of tea, until most unsurprisingly she feel asleep on his chair, her lily-ballerina safely cradled in her arms.

Maybe he should have woken her, but he decided against it. The child looked like she needed a little break after all. _And much, much more then that. _

Confound it! Why did it have to be him? Why did Basil – of all people! – have to be the one to find her? He was not the most sensible person in this city, and he didn't know the first thing about kids! To him they were a completely different species! Why couldn't a nice widow find her? Yes – one who's children had just been shipped of to university. That would have been ideal. But no – oh, no, no, no, no, no… _He _had to be the one to find her. Simply marvelous!

_Note to self: NEVER be nice to strays. You never know where they've been. Wait. Hasn't he said something like that already?_

Shaking that thought out of his head he checked his pocket watch – twenty minutes walk to Scotland Yard wasn't all that bad a time, Basil thought with a grin the moment he saw himself in front of the double doors that lead to Inspector Vole's domain (actually, it was the superintendent's, but he just liked Vole better). He knew people in their full health making worse time then he just did.

Maybe this day wasn't turning out to be completely bad after all.

"I HATE CHRISTMAS!"

To say that Basil wasn't mildly surprised when he found none other then Inspector Gregory Vole making a live statement in the middle of the room concerning his seasonal preferences, would have been a flat lie. But he was also amused when he saw another familiar figure with him, desperately trying to calm the gray mouse.

"Inspector, get a hold of yourself! I am no happier then you are concerning this, but this is no reason to yell out profanities!"

"Profanities?" Vole cried incredulously. "I'm not yelling any profanities, Clawes. I just hate Christmas! It is the blooming season of all crimes!" He then lifted started to count on his fingers. "Shoplifting, vandalizing, blackmail, sexual deviance and murder! The whole package, Clawes! Somebody ALWAYS does something during this holiday… and by some strange course of events I'm also ALWAYS on guard duty on the 24th towards the 25th of December!"

Detective Inspector Clawes sighted while Basil, unnoticed by both, hid a snicker. "Yes, and every year, we hear the same thing over and over again." He said in a bored tone. It was clear he heard Vole's speech before.

"I don't see Greyson being on night duty on a night like tonight" Vole was quick to growl out.

"He and Bradsrteet were on guard duty last night. And will be again during New Years." Clawes was no slower to defend his colleagues.

"But never on _Christmas_! Do you have any idea how incredibly boring it is out there –" he pointed a finger at the double doors "– and how impossibly cold it can get when you have nothing more but snowflakes and ice-cones to count?"

A snort was heard from the side, and none other then Inspector Tobias Greyson stepped in. "You're one to talk about the cold, you old Scrooge."

"I resent that! My office was build that way, just so you know! Plus, I don't see you spending every night before The Day –" he air-quoted the last word "– shivering on the streets in search of trouble. No! You get to go home in a few short hours, buy a Christmas tree and then enjoy a nice, peaceful evening with the family. Had it ever occurred to you that maybe I would like to do the same?"

Greyson quirked an eyebrow. "You have no family."

Vole practically exploded. "THAT'S NOT THE POINT!"

Basil couldn't stop himself. He tried, be sure to remember that, but he honestly couldn't: he laughed so hard it hurt his chest. "I'm glad things haven't changed much."

For a moment, the inspectors stared and stared some more, until Clawes, ever the sensible sort, seamed to finally find this voice. "Mr. Basil!" he cried in delight. "Wonderful seeing you again, sir! And on Christmas Eve of all days! Truly a time of miracles, isn't it?" Clawes stepped closer to Basil, shock his hand most joyously and patted him the back as if he were greeting an old comrade.

"Greetings, Detective. I hope all is well this fine day."

Clawes smiled. "It's Detective-Inspector now, sir! I just got promoted now a couple of weeks ago. Seems all that yelling you shot at my head finally paid off, right teacher?" Basil smiled and Clawes blushed. "I would have told you sooner but your doctor said no visitors." Basil made a silent oath to truly strangle that man." I didn't think telegrams would do you justice, you see sir. And when I tried to snick in your landlady kind of found me out…"

"Breaking and entering now, Detective-Inspector? For shame!" Basil mock-scold, much to the amusement of all those present.

"Yes, well…This is why I am both surprised and happy to see you down here on your own two legs, sir!"

"Well, let's say I'm enjoying the freedom while it."

Vole, finally regaining some dignity, made a grimace. "While Clawes and I stuck doing all the dirty work, as usual." He was quick to grumble, much to the other's amusement. "But as my esteemed colleagues seamed to have forgotten their manners – one in particular – why not allow me to be the mannered one here –" he shot a wicked smirk at Greyson "– and invite you in for a bit of sherry and plum pudding. Greyson's treat!"

"Hey!" Vole ignored his comrade's cries of displeasure as he took Basil by the elbow to guide him in.

"I thought you hated Christmas." Basil said teasingly as Vole held the doors open for him.

"Indeed I do, but I love the plum pudding Greyson's wife sends him as a snack, and you just gave me and this lad here –" he pointed at Clawes who waved back "– all the excuse we need to devour it like a hoard of wild pigs."

"Don't you dare!"

Basil decided this would be a good moment to interrupt them and their silly quarreling. Grown men acting like children… Wherever was this world coming to? "As much I would enjoy playing this fun little game with you, I would have you know that this is not exactly a social visit."

All three stared. Clawes was the only one who had enough wits about him to say anything. "You're taking up cases again, sir?"

"Something similar. A fancy little problem just came my way" _In more ways then one_. "I was curious if I could have a look at your records concerning the Ratigan case."

The tree exchanged some worried glances before their expressions became grim, Vole a bit more then the rest. Basil frowned. He knew that look, and it clearly said that Vole was about to say something. And whatever it was, Basil was not going to like it.

"Speaking of which, Bassu… I thought you should know that Ratigan has been asking for you." Yes. Basil definitely didn't like it.

Right then, the detective's body started shaking from all ends. The inspectors were by his side in the blink of an eye, but Basil merely held out a hand to signal that he was all-right. And for once, at least physically, he was, for the shaking was not caused by pain, but by rage.

"And what did you tell him?" The question came out as something similar to a very low, very menacing, very snake-like hiss. The inspectors were not at all surprised by that, but it still gave them the creeps.

"That if he imagines that after all he did you'll so much as consider honoring his request, then he had clearly lost the last remaining ties he had with reason." Vole stated matter-of-fact.

"Good. Be sure to keep reminding him that." With that, Vole as well as the other inspectors understood that the matter was dropped. "And _he _is most surprisingly _not _why I am here. I am currently trying to find a certain toy maker whom I suspect was abducted by the rat way back in June."

"Fat chance finding the man alive…" Greysone grumbled gloomily. Basil glared at him, arms crossed over his chest.

"All-right then…" Clawes interjected smoothly, guiding Basil away from possible trouble. "Archives, this way. Inspector Vole, mind opening the door for us?"

Vole appeared to consider that. "As long as you're the one that make us a nice, hot pot of French coffee for tonight."

"Deal. Will be back in a jiffy, sir." He said to Basil as he left for the kitchens. Vole opened the door, confessing to Basil that he loved French coffee more then he'll ever like English tea, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out how to achieve that specific French taste he loved so much.

Basil rolled his eyes. Some grown men were such children…

"Just wondering, Bassu…" Vole began as the addressed dismissed another file. "What are you looking for, more exactly?"

"Not exactly sure myself." Basil confessed. "A list of names, maybe. It would have helped if I had anything else beside a surname to go with."

"What name?"

"Flaversham."

"Flaversham? You mean Hiram Flaversham?"

Ever so slowly, Basil turned to look at Vole. "Do you know him?"

The inspector shrugged. "That's saying much. I heard about him from my sister. Her kid's obsessed with his toys. Made some of the best in town from what I heard. For some reason, he vanished now a couple of months ago. A certain Mrs. Filth filed a missing person's add about him and hid daughter – Olive or something like that. I'll have to double check if you need a proper name for the kid."

"Olivia, by any chance?" Basil inquired.

"Why… yes, I believe that be it."

So the child's story was true. No, it was not like he didn't believe it from the very beginning – but there was still that slight chance that… Never mind.

"Inspector, do you think I can have a small world with Fidget?"

The inspector's eyes widened comically. "Fidget? Well, I wouldn't have anything against it, but the bat's been transferred over to Midsummer County (most terrific name for a county house, don't you think?) Did the bat know anything important?"

He watched as Basil ran a hand over his eyes. "Most vital, in fact. The witness stated that he was the one who did the kidnapping. Most certainly on Ratigan's orders. And I also have a pretty good hunch as to the why."

Vole whistled. "Now that's what a call a pickle. But still, there's time till the next year and I know that Clawes will be willing to sign you a pass if you'll resume your lessons with him. That is, if the journey wouldn't be much of a problem for you and all."

"Theoretically, I shouldn't have been able to make it till here, especially after my earlier endeavor to stop that child from getting squashed by a moving human vehicle." With that, he launched into telling Vole all about the events which took place earlier this day. "I really worry for that child at times, Vole." When Vole turned silent, Basil shifted his gaze from lying on the set of papers in front of hi to that of the inspector.

… Oh, if only he had a camera! Vole's expression was one of pure gold right then and there! One part shock, one part disbelief, everything mixed with a heavy dose of incomprehension and adding just a tinge of doubt – that would be the way one would describe the normally harsh man just about now. Basil wondered if he should use that line concerning open mouths and flies…

"Say that again?" Said the inspector as soon as he re-found his voice and a bit of the initial shock had washed away. Quite a shame, really… Shock looked good on him. "You, Basil of Baker Street, master of insensibility and cold facts, hater of children everywhere, decided to take on the case of a little _stray_?" Amused, Basil just nodded. "Saints preserve us! The apocalypse approaches!"

That earned another chuckle from the taller mouse. "Calm yourself Vole. As amusing as your display may be, I'm not sure I wish to have you keep over just yet. But concerning your inquiry… suffice to say that lack of work have left me slightly desperate to take on _any _kind of case."

For some reason Basil had yet to understand, Vole looked troubled by the news. "And so you're helping a stray… Bassu, no disrespect intended this time, but you've flipped your lid. What are you going to gain from all of this? Beside wrecked nerves and possible nightmares of cute yet messy monsters from hell, that is."

"You mean 'children'?"

"All the same to me."

How _Vole_ managed to say that with a straight face will puzzle Basil for quite some time.

"Activity, my dear Vole. Just being back on the chase is good enough reward for me. I was getting insane without something to think about!"

Vole snorted. "I'd still like to know what your landlady would say about all of this. If she won't skin you alive for leaving the flat, then she certainly will once she'll learn that you've brought in a stray."

"Ah, she's seen worse, Vole."

"No doubt. What else can be expected from her 'worse tenant in London'?"

"Oh, haven't you heard?" there was humor in the mouse's voice. "I got off for good behavior. Haven't broken anything in nearly a month." Vole quirked an eyebrow, a knowing smile on his face. Basil blushed. "And I became aware that there weren't many things left to break anymore. Plus, after your landlady confiscates your chemistry set, you start to become weary of her."

"Still haven't given that back to you?"

"Not since she returned home to see a hole in the floor. Still haven't managed to properly fix that, by the way." Vole laughed.

Clawes chose the perfect moment to bring in the coffee.

All conversation died away then, for Basil's mind shifted back to the matter at hand. He looked at all the names of the people who've been rounded up on the night of Ratigan's downfall and frowned. None of these people were registered under the name of Flaversham, and although Olivia had offered him a sketched description of her father, none of these men seamed to fit it. He decided to borrow these files and ask the child to look over them. With luck, she might recognize her father among the lot. He only hoped that the one labeled 'deceased resisting arrest' was not him.

And to think that all this happened thanks to Ratigan.

Curse the creature. Curse him to the lowest circles of hell! And after all he did – after all the lives that he took, after all he's done to this city, he expected him, Basil of Baker Street, the one he crippled, to speak with him? How dare he? How dare the Rat ask that of him? Hasn't he done enough damage already? Or did he want to gloat and embarrass Basil even further? Sure, the battle was over, and the Rat had officially lost, but at least he still had the ability to move around as he wished. He would NOT give him the satisfaction of seeing what his greatest nemeses had become: a poor, week, crippled mouse.

And in case one's wondering: no, he was not feeling sorry for himself. He was just being realistic… but that didn't mean it hurt any less.

… Still, in theory, Ratigan should know what happened to the toymaker. It was his plan, was it not?

Yes, his reasoning seamed right. In theory at least, speaking with the rat was the most natural thing he could do. But did not mean that he was happy to literally find himself in front of the rat's cell. His honor will never let this die down.

… Yet here he was… Oh, that child owed him so much…

"My, my… What do my poor eyes see?" A low, melodic and terribly familiar voice spoke. Basil instantly straightened his back, standing firm and hardly moving as the rat stepped closer to the door, emerging like some sort of specter from the shadows. "Could it really be my dear friend Basil of Baker Street? Come to visit your old friend, haven't you old boy?"

Basil's gaze hardened visibly. "You and I have never been friends, Ratigan, so do stop presuming otherwise. Even in jest your words couldn't be more wrong."

Professor James Ratigan laughed at that – hard and laud how it was his way. As he did so, Basil took the time to properly take a good look at his former nemesis.

Prison life had not been kind with him. His fur, once such a smart shade of velvet black, began to gray around the edges. He had lost weight and his clothes didn't seem to fit him anymore. But most shockingly, his eyes which always seamed so rich with knowledge and mischief had lost their shine, leaving Ratigan to be even less then a shadow of what he had once been.

"Oh, Basil… Always a jester, right? But I guess I mustn't blame you. You're still rather crossed with me for trying to take over the kingdom, no? Tell you what – to make it up to you, how about I organize a nice little robbery and you can try and stop me? Would that cheer you up? Oh, I know how much you like trying to get me behind bars."

"… Ratigan, you're already behind bars."

Ratigan looked around, touching the metal bars which separated him from Basil, then laughed a cruel, long laugh. "Oh, I see I am, aren't I? Funny though, I never noticed that before."

… _He's gone round the bend. _

"Guess that means I'm old news, right? Found any new criminal masterminds on the market? Any new… playmates? If so, do tell me all about it. I want to know just who replaced me."

Both of Basil's eyebrows went up. "Replaced you?"

"Why yes. If it took you so long to come and visit that means that someone must be keeping you busy."

Basil couldn't believe it. "Busy? I'll tell you what's been keeping me busy: doctors and hospital bills! Do you have any idea what you've done to me? You nearly made me lose both my legs and left me with a sore back. Thanks to you, Ratigan, I'm crippled for life and most likely will never be able to be more then just a consultant because I most certainly lack the feet for the foot work a proper detective has to pull."

Ratigan looked at him oddly, but Basil wasn't finished. "And do you know something else? Today I met a girl whose father was kidnapped on the eve of Her Majesty's Jubilee – your big day, Ratigan! And here's where things get lovely: the man was a toymaker, but a most brilliant one to begin with. Goes by the name of Flaversham – Hiram Flaversham from what I gathered. Oh, you look slightly surprised. You shouldn't, for it is my belief that you ordered the man's abduction. I knew that mechanical Queen was too advanced science, even for one as brilliant as you. So naturally, you kidnapped the one man in London who had the knowledge to make such a device, yet one which will not be missed anytime soon."

Whatever reaction he expecting, clapping was not one of them.

"Bravo, detective! Finally, the last peace of the puzzle was found. Took you long enough though." Basil glared at the rat. "But yes. You are right. I ordered Fidget to kidnap the toymaker. I have heard about his skill in the field and that was when the idea with the fake queen popped in my dead. It was a simple plan, old boy… But you must admit that is was a clever plan. The only witness would be the little girl, but who believes children nowadays? Oh, except you, of course my naïve little friend."

If Basil felt insulted by that last remark, he did a remarkable job not showing it.

"Did you know that his daughter's been practically living on the street ever since then? I may be the last person who should care about that small fact, but even someone as cold-hearted as I can't just sit with my arms crossed when I see such injustice. She has nobody, Ratigan, and all that thanks to you and your power-hungry nature! So naturally, like I normally seem to do, I end up trying to fix your messes. So I sure hope you're happy this Christmas Eve, you overgrown sewer-rat, because thanks to you, there are chances that child will never be the same again."

By the end of it all, Basil was panting and Ratigan was staring. His eyes had taken a strange light during Basil's little speech, like something of the old criminal mastermind had resurfaced after a long absence. Suddenly, the rat said: "Would saying 'sorry' mean anything?"

"Of course not." Snapped Basil.

"Then I don't know what you want from me."

"Telling me what happened to Flaversham for starters."

Ratigan's eyes brightened. "And seconds?"

"Just tell me, Ratigan!"

Ratigan chose to pout – a sight Basil never wished to witness ever again. It was too damn creepy! "You're no fun detective."

Basil felt a migraine coming. He was wasting his time here and back home the child would probably be waking up all alone with nothing but a note explaining where he went.

"Basil…" Ratigan called back after Basil made towards the door. "I don't regret anything I've done. I'm sure that if I had a second life to live, I would do the very same things. Sure, rotting away in jail is not quite how I would like to spend the rest of my days, but all in all, I have no regrets. When I die, I'll die with a clear conscience, and I'm the bad guy here! How is it that you – the good guy – seem to have so many regrets?"

Where was this going? "I have no regrets."

"Then why are you blaming me for all your misfortunes?" He asked, most serious. "Sure, I've been blaming you for getting me here for a long time, but after a while, hate didn't seem to cut it. Because I must admit Basil, I missed our little game and if I really was to think about it, I lost because I just wasn't quick enough. Or was it because you were too quick? Or maybe it was me all alone. I put Flaversham operate the fake queen after all, but no, I don't think that was it. Maybe it was because I put Bakcet to look after him. Oh, and you know Backet. The guy's as slippery as a serpent. I just know he must still be out there somewhere. He's too quick for just any old policeman. No, no. That's not it ether. Oh, never mind… These are just ratings of an old lunatic – gone mad just because life down here is just so goddamn BORING! Did you know that none of these guards down here know the first thing about mathematics?"

Basil sighted as Ratigan's eyes had once again clouded with madness. What was left on the once brilliant rodent were mere moments of sanity that were quickly brushed away like dust. He probably didn't even know what day it was… Poor guy really did lose it and for some reason, he almost felt sorry for the guy. He looked at the general state of the cell: the mathematic equations written on the walls, the crumbled papers which seamed to have been re-used too many times over, yesterday's meal scattered all over the floor, a stray blanket lying at a side, snow coming in from the barred window…. Apart from that: nothing. No personal articles, no apparent gifts, no signs which would show that this man's been visited once by someone besides the jailor.

Oh a moment's impulse, he took off his scarf and tied it to one of the metal bars to Ratigan's cell.

"Merry Christmas, Sewer Rat." Basil said before turning on his heels and heading towards the door.

"Oh, and Basil!" Ratigan called back. Groaning, Basil turned back one last time, and much to his surprise found the larger rodent wearing his scarf, his eyes now sparkling with mirth. "Know that you're moving rather well for a cripple."

With one last huff, Basil stormed out of the room, though halfway back towards Vole's office he did notice that he'd hardly been using his brother's walking stick.

* * *

(1) quote from The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

* * *

_I am seriously messed up in the head, I know that. What I don't know is how am I able to have fun while doing so? Placing Basil in rediculousely awkward situations is something that I'm used to, but this is a bit too much, even for me. And I know I've missed writing Ratigan, but did he have to be so OOC? According to psychology, yes, but that's another matter. Maybe I'm just plain evil, or worse - I have reached insanity! But I'm trying really hard to have a ending that- OUPS! Almost gave it all away there. But don't thread. patience, and we'll get there as well. So until there, read and review!_


	5. Chapter 4: A day in which we heal

_**A Winter's Tale**_

**Chapter 4: A day in which we heal**

_Well! _Basil thought with a grump. He had just left Scotland Yard with less enthusiasm then when he entered, thing which didn't happen so often. _That certainly was a useless trip. No new clues, no leads, no nothing. But at least it stopped snowing._

Indeed, it had stopped snowing, fact for which Basil was grateful in a way. But in another, he rather it was a blizzard. At least then he wouldn't have to worry about all those children that seamed to have sprung out of the earth and their wretched snowballs. Dodging them was wearing and annoying.

He wondered momentarily if his young client would consider joining the little monsters in their 'fun'… It would certainly give him enough time to brew a nice pot of tea and think things over. Because all in all, he did have a lot of thinking to do.

Only problem was: he didn't know where to start. So he decided to take a short break and just sit on the nearest bench available and just watch the people in the streets. Sooner or later something will come to mind.

"Children! Lunch is ready!" A random mother called and an equally random child rand from his battle position towards her. Oh the other side of the street, there was a man – tailor from the looks of his jacket, but not an overly good one judging by his buttons, screaming the name of his own offspring. Basil noticed how a small little boy approached the man, his steps hesitant, back hunched and head ducked.

"What were you doing out there? Playing in snow won't put food on the table for us, you know!" Basil frowned at his tone.

"I'm sorry sir." The child said and Basil flinched visibly when the father hit his son on the back of his head. The started yelling again, but the child wouldn't say a word. It's not like it would do him any kind of good, after all.

As he saw them leave, Basil couldn't help but feel how his heart ran to that child. It was not fair, Basil though, how some children were being treated in this world. And what was most painful was that it was not their fault to begin with. It was his opinion that if someone wished for children, then they should be prepared to give them the care and attention they deserved… And Basil didn't even like kids! Oh yes, he didn't. Really he didn't. But even he knew that if he ever became a father or had to care for a child, he would never raise a hand to his children or the ones in his charge. A quick swash to a child's behind when he or she was naughty was one thing, but beating and abusing a child was a completely different thing. Too bad there weren't any laws in this country to put a stop to all this mistreating.

Why couldn't Parliament make laws like that?

Again, his mind traveled to Miss Flaversham. In six months, it was impossible for something to not have happened to her. She did say that she lived with some families, but what families? Not many were those families who just opened their doors to apparent orphans which came knocking on the door, even if they were paying for their stay. Fewer still where those who just happened to show kindness to said apparent orphans.

Basil inwardly shivered. _Six months – _those who words sounded so frightful at the moment. Fate was definitely cruel with some. Very, very cruel.

He was surprised though that Miss Flaversham seamed to be so open with him. She must have a reason for it though. Wherever it was because in her mind he was her last choice of ever finding her father or because he seamed like the only one to believe her Basil wasn't sure. Still, he hopped beyond hope that the reason she was like that was not because _he _seamed to have been the kindest of adults she had encountered in a long time. _That _would leave a very foul taste in his mouth. But be as it may, for the first time in years he truly didn't want to disappoint a client. For once, he wasn't doing this for himself, to prove that he could, but for someone else – a complete stranger!

All those months spent in isolation must have rotten his brain… Or maybe Mrs. Judson finally infected him with her Christmas spirit. Ether way, he hoped that he'll snap out of it soon. He started to scare himself.

So that in mind, he though back to the matter at hand: finding Flaversham.

What should he try next? Well, obviously he will have to ask around different hospitals and clinics. And the poor houses! He mustn't forget the poorhouses. And what else? Hmm… He wondered if he could get his band of Irregulars back together again. After six months lack of work (and pay) they should be eager enough to look and ask around for him.

Yes, he could do this. It was a simple case after all. Would have been more simple if he had a couple of more clues to go along with it…

Wait a moment. He _did _have something else to go by! "_I put Flaversham operate the fake queen after all, but no, I don't think that was it. Maybe it was because I put Bakcet to look after him. Oh, and you know Backet. The guy's as slippery as a serpent. I just know he must still be out there somewhere. He's too quick for just any old policeman…_" If he wouldn't completely loath that rat he would go back to the jail cells right this moment and kiss him!

… Ok, maybe not, but still! Oh, Gods! The case was as good as solved! If Flaversham wasn't accidentally arrested (or at the morgue) and if Ratigan wasn't lying (wouldn't put it pass him) then he knew exactly where he would be! Wait till he told the child – she'll be besides herself with joy!

Oh, no, no… Bad idea. If by some remote chance he'd turn out to be wrong… He'd rather not think about it. Sufficient to say that he shouldn't get the child's hopes up just yet.

But first things first: he needed to send a telegram.

By the time he had reached Baker Street, Basil was quite pleased with himself. As he was sending the telegram, it had occurred to him that he could very well wire a few hospitals and a couple of his connection in that field. Also, luck struck when upon leaving the office, he practically bumped into Wiggings who – surprise of surprises! – sounded most pleased when Basil said he had a job for him. All in all, things were progressing very well indeed. He knew he could still count on the old brain cells!

Now, all he needed to do was to wait for a response via telegram, a report from Wiggings and have the girl look over some files for him.

His good mood died down most abruptly when upon reaching his flat he was greeted with the most fearsome screamed he has ever heard.

"Miss Flaversham!" He cried, panicked, for he didn't see the child where he left her last. Oh, he knew he shouldn't leave her alone! She was only a child! And now she was probably being kidnapped! Or tortured! In his own home! She was… hiding in a cupboard, still visibly asleep, and screaming at the top of her lungs.

Nightmares, Basil concluded. Wonderful.

_Well, at least she wasn't being kidnapped._

Those thoughts aside for now though, Basil rushed to her side. He didn't like how pale the skin beneath her fur looked.

"Child! Miss… Child, wake up!" He reached out instinctively and held the child's face in his hands. Olivia kept struggling, screaming and kicking and nearly poking one or Basil's eyes out. "Child… Olivia, open your eyes." Basil tried again. "You're safe. You're with Mr. Basil." He brushed the boy's fringe off his forehead, along with some tears. "Come on, child. Look at me!"

Olivia stopped screaming, but did not fully wake. Instead he screwed her eyes shut and tried to scuttle out of Basil's reach, muttering all the while words like "Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to!" and everything in between. Basil kept a good grip on her however. He was not the best detective London had ever seen without reason, after all. But that still didn't mean that he wasn't more lost then he had ever been in his entire life.

He didn't even notice when the child's struggles became weaker and weaker until they appeared to resemble that of slight rocking.

Simply marvelous! His fears have so promptly been confirmed: out of all the children in this bloody city he had to find one with issues. Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph – abused children were the hardest ones to deal with, because there was nothing remotely normal in their thinking. They were practically grownups with toddler tendencies, fire and ice all bottled in the same vile. Gods! How did someone fix someone like that?

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry…" The child kept muttering in a cracked voice and for Basil 'sorry' had just become one of the cruelest words of the English language.

Slightly panicked now, he tried to remember all the times he had been distressed during his childhood. There had been… surprisingly little incidents he could recall, but each time something did upset him, his mother would come and hold him tight and then just talk with him until everything was better again.

Of course, nothing he had ever experienced was as bad as what this child was going through now, but Olivia was getting agitated again.

"Child… Olivia, you need to wake up now. It's just a dream." He said in the softest voice he could draw on. "You're safe. You're in my house, more specifically in a cupboard situated in my sitting room." Still no response from the child. It was time to take up some more drastic measures. As gently as he could, he grabbed Olivia's hands and began to slap her palms against the bottom and sides of the cupboard.

"Feel that, child? You're in a cupboard, in my home. Not wherever you believe you are. That, child, is a dream" Once more, he slapped her hands on the sides. "You're at Baker Street, child. You've had a bad dream and in a moment of fright took refuge in my cupboard. Feel the wood from beneath your palms, child."

And sure enough, the child began to tap her palms against the bottom of the cupboard of her own volition. Taking that as a good sign, Basil released his grip on her. Slowly, Olivia's eyes opened and the once glassy pupils had taken on a more healthy and lively look to them. Becoming more aware of her surroundings now, she turned and stared at Basil, blinking, and then opened her mouth to say something. She found that that particular action hurt. A lot.

With a broken look in her eyes, Olivia brought her hands to her throat, turning her eyes away from the detective. For his part, Basil sighted and tried to lift the child's face to meet his eyes, to no avail. No doubt the child was ashamed of her vulnerability.

"Child, clearly you've hurt yourself. Come. Let me see how badly." Olivia was baking away. "Child, it's quite natural for a grown-up to offer assistance to a child in need. Or should be, in any case… And no matter what preconceptions you may have about strangers offering help, you can rest assured that I will not harm you. Do you understand what I'm saying?" After a long while, a nod. "Do you believe what I'm saying?" Nothing.

Basil brought a hand to his forehead. What now?

"Well, I think that's good thing in a way. It's always best to be weary of strangers, and as far as I'm concerned, I still qualify as a stranger. So maybe it's best that you don't rust me." With a tiny shudder and a quick swipe of her eyes, Olivia lifted her head. She started at Basil as if she was seeing him for the first time. Basil continued. "But we can't let that go unseen to ether." He pointed at her throat. "Now, do you think you can let me have a look? I promise that I won't do anything else. And if I do, I grant you full permission to go ahead and bite me."

Olivia smiled at that. In all those weeks she had spent searching, there had been a few mice 'kind enough' to take her in for a short while. None of them were _nice_, and most expected for Olivia to earn her keep if she was to live with them. They would scowl of her if she cried, scold her and ever beat her if she would ask for something or did something to disturb their proper way of life as proper mice. Basil was – most surprisingly for her –much unlike them. Maybe it was because she was his client, or maybe because she said 'please'… or maybe Basil was just different. That must have been what he meant when he said he was a bit eccentric. Ether way, she liked Basil, and felt that there couldn't be too much harm if she were to believe him. And he did grant her permission to bite him if he did anything funny.

With that in mind, Olivia nodded and tried not to flinch as Basil ran expert fingers over her throat.

"Feels like it's a bit swelled, but it shouldn't be anything too severe. Tell me child, are you in pain?" A tinny, hesitant nod was her response. "Well, unfortunately I don't have much to help for the swelling, but I may have something to ease the pain. Here, come out of that cupboard and hop back on the chair and I'll bring some milk and honey for you."

With that, he got up with more ease then he was accustomed to and made way towards the kitchen, returning shortly after with a large glass of milk and honey, just as he said. In the meanwhile, Olivia did come out of the cupboard, but did not yet take a seat on the chair as Basil told her.

"Young lady, why are you not seated?" Basil asked, slightly annoyed, as he placed the glass down on a nearby table. Olivia did not look at him as she shrugged. The next thing she knew she was being lifted and swung upwards until she was sitting on Basil big red armchair. This was the second time this had happened.

Olivia made an angry face. "Stop doing that." She said out loud, despite the pain in her throat. "I'm not some rag doll!"

At that Basil gave her a quick once over and an indulgent smile. "Well, I might if you'd actually do me the honor of sitting when I invite you to do so. I like to think that chairs were made for a purpose and it saddens me when I see that purpose so overlooked." Olivia was not sure if he was all that serious when he said that last bit. "Now, fancy a bit of warm milk?"

It was easy to say yes when the glass was held inches away from her face. Without much thought, she accepted the glass and drank its contents in just a few short gulps. It has been so long since she last tasted milk… longer still since it seamed to be so warm and soothing to the throat. When she was finished, she flashed Basil one of the most honest and brightest smiles she had. He would never know just how much she meant it though. No one had ever done anything to help her without being asked, and even then there was no guarantee she would get it (except for her father, she thought back with a hint of sadness).

It was a nice feeling… knowing someone was taking care of her… even a little bit.

"I see you liked it." Basil said, taking the now empty glass away and taking a seat besides her on the armchair. "Did it ease your throat?"

"Yes sir. Thank you very much sir." She said automatically, only to discover that the burning sensation in her throat was no longer present. Wow…

"You're most welcome. My mother used to make this for me when I was little." Basil confessed. "Whenever I would hurt myself trying to climb the tallest tree in the yard or when I'd end up quarrelling with the son of the woodpecker…" He paused, eyeing the little girl with a strange glint in his eyes, one which made Olivia slightly uneasy. "Or when I'd wake up from a nightmare."

Oh… so that was his aim.

"I don't want to talk about it, sir. Besides, it was nothing."

Basil raised an eyebrow. "Screaming as if the Devil was after you while hiding in my cupboard hardly qualifies as 'nothing', child."

Olivia appeared to be blushing. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't –"

"No!" Basil shouted, and Olivia instantly felt afraid. He looked crossed… What had she done? Maybe she should say she was sorry before- "Never ask for forgiveness concerning something you have no control over. Nobody wishes for nightmares." There was a slight pause then, when Basil's face turned from that of anger, to that of a man struck with an idea and eventually to that of a man with a purpose. Olivia was not certain she liked that look.

"But usually, it helps when you talk about them. Makes it easier to forget about them."

She didn't know that. "Really?"

And Basil almost forgot how easily children could be manipulated. "Yes, really. The mind is a complicated thing, child. Sometimes you just need to do its bidding. And nightmares are its way of saying there's something you need to tell."

"Then I think my mind hates me very much. I can't imagine anyone wanting to know about _that_."

"What is, 'that', child?"

"The night father was taken, sir." Basil had her, and Olivia didn't even notice. "I always dream about it. How we heard that it was someone at the door, then daddy hid me in the cupboard – and then the sound of breaking glass. And that bat was laughing. I pushed the door open just enough to see… Daddy was struggling to get free from that bat and I… I was just sitting there! I should have gone and helped him! But I was just… sitting! I couldn't move, sir!"

She tried to stop the tears from spilling, she really did, but after that last admission, she just couldn't. She burst into fits of uncontrollable cries, much like she had after her father was taken – when she learned that she was truly alone now, that nobody will be there to comfort her, to pick her up and hug her, to tell her it was all-right...

But then, something was different from last time. This time, she felt strong arms curl around her, pulling her to a warm chest. She clutch on to that chest, burying her head in the fabric surrounding it, and kept on crying – crying harder then she ever cried before.

"Shh… There, there, child. It will be all-right, you'll see." A warm voice was saying, and Olivia wanted to believe it so terribly much. "The hard part is done and over with, child. You just need to wait a little bit longer."

Just wait… she could do that.

"Now, are you feeling better?" The voice asked, and Olivia nodded, for indeed – she did feel better. "Good. Does the nightmare bother you still?" She thought that over… No. "See? Did I not say that talking helps?"

With now wide yet puffy eyes, Olivia looked up to meet Basil's smiling face. She had just cried in his arms… in a grown-up's arms… no her father… in _Basil's _arms? She felt so ashamed – but much to her surprise, Basil didn't seem to mind. More so, he seamed happy about it.

Olivia couldn't help the smile. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

His smile widened. "You're most welcome, child. Now, since that's settled, I guess it's time we got back to business for a little bit. You see, I never had the chance to tell you that while you slept I have taken the liberty to take a small journey over to Scotland Yard."

"Have you found out anything about my father?"

"I might just have." With that, he pulled out a few papers from one of his inner pockets and took a more comfortable seat next to Olivia. Much to his surprise, Olivia hardly hesitated when she did the same – almost tucking her head under his arm. "Now, here I have the files and pictures of most of the men captured along with Ratigan that night. It is general belief that these people have been in the rat's employment for a number of years now. Of course, everyone here claimed otherwise."

"Of course." Olivia repeated in the perfect mock-up of the detective's tone. Basil allowed himself to smirk.

"Now, I'll flip through these and you'll tell me if you recognize your father as any of these men. If you don't, you mustn't worry, for the Yard is known for its high level of incompetence… That means some of them got away." Olivia giggled at that. "And I'm still waiting for some news from outer sources. But let's no worry about that right now." He cleared his voice and selected a random file. "Shall we begin?"

For a good half an hour later they were busy going over the files, with Olivia adding a comment every now and then concerning how 'funny' some of the men in the picture looked. Basil had to admit that – at least when it came to the lizard named Bill – 'funny' was a pretty good word.

All this time, Basil had on his best mask of aloofness he could forge, for on the inside, he was deeply troubled. The display the child had put on was most unnatural and for Basil one would even go and add 'frightening' to the list. There was no doubt in his mind that this child who was now leaning on him with such naturalism had experienced true horrors in the past. He didn't doubt that what she said about her nightmare was true, but he couldn't quit wondering why would she then cry out 'sorry' and 'I didn't mean to'. No, he decided – the child was not lying. She was merely not telling him everything. He had his theories as to the 'why' but out of them all, the most plausible one seamed to be the one which said that 'she was ashamed'.

His mind drifted back to the tailor and how he treated his son. He didn't need to imagine what a man like that would do to one who was not of his own flesh and blood. Actions spoke for themselves.

Suddenly, he felt the urge to protect this one troubled little girl from all the evil of this world.

When they ran out of files to look over, Basil suggested they take a short break and maybe go out for a walk to enjoy the fine weather while it lasted. Truth be told though, that was only an excuse to get the child out of the house and as far away from cupboards as he could – for a while at least.

Olivia accepted in a heartbreak.

After converting an old sweater of his into a half-decent dress for his guest, both mice took towards the park. Olivia shocked him then when she politely asked if they could go to see the fare.

"You wish to see the fare?" He had to be certain that he hadn't heard wrong.

"Only if it isn't much bother, sir." On the inside, it was clear she was torturing herself with thoughts like: _Stupid! You shouldn't have asked! Of course he'll say no!_

"I don't see why not."

The look on the child's face as he said that was absolutely priceless. Accepting a go at the fare made him question his sanity for a good part of the day, but seeing Olivia laugh and jump from one ride to another was well worth it.

"Mr. Basil?"

"Yes?"

"Why don't you wear top-hats?"

Now that was what Basil would call a question which came out of the blue. And the fact that the child was still wearing that blue overcoat made it all the more humorous. "Why do you ask?"

She pointed at a group of people. "Those people wear them."

"Well, I am not those people. And top-hats are not my style."

"You'd look good in them, sir."

Basil looked at her in mock-shock. "The very idea! Me? With a top hat? After all the years in which my brother practically forced me to try one on? Hump!"

"You would, sir." She insisted in good humor – just as they were passing a hat stand.

"Indeed I would not." Suddenly, an idea sprang to his mind. Yes, it meant that he might be going mad, but who cared? "What's more – I shall prove it." With that, he took a couple of long strides over to the stand, an ever-curious Olivia right on his heels. Curiosity soon turned into amusement which sooner still turned into the laugh of Olivia's short life, for Basil was now trying on almost every top hat the merchant had, often making ridiculous comments about how his head looked like was possessed by biroctratic monsters or how lawyer just didn't fit him. Even the merchant was amused and as a thank you, allowed the two to pick out any hat they liked and take it home – 'all in the spirit of Christmas!'

Olivia wanted to pick up a top hat in the memory of the day - much to Basil's faked horror. What was faked turned into something quite authentic when the merchant actually stayed true to his word and Basil found himself walking back home with said top-hat in hand.

… If his brother asked, he _will _deny all. Oh, God… he really was loosing his mind!

But so time passed, and soon it was time for their little outing to come to an end. Not to mention that Basil's legs were simply killing him – though not quite as much as they did earlier that day. Most strange, indeed.

The detective though over this small fact as he was putting away dinner's dishes… Along with many other things, that is. What he could conclude however was that Olivia Flaversham was an odd girl indeed. Mere hours before he had to practically beg her to sit on his chair, now she comes along and actually asks for seconds… after the seconds. Which he didn't mind, be sure to note it. Mrs. Judson left him with more food then his brother could eat (which was saying something), so it was quite a shame to let it go to waste. Plus, the girl looked like she deserved a proper meal. Judging by the way she ate her portion she didn't get much to eat for some time now. Looking back now, he concluded that getting her to eat was actually the easy part – the hard part was convincing her that he didn't want her to pay for it.

"And they say I have issues…"

Dishes now properly put back in their place he journeyed back into the living room where he knew his little guest was currently playing with her little lily-ballerina. Or at least was, for surprise of surprises: the child had fallen asleep on the floor, the ballerina still dancing closely.

Basil runs his fingers through his slightly messy mop of hair. "I will never understand this child." For he already concluded that this one was most certainly not like all the rest. But on to more urgent matters!

He couldn't leave the girl on the floor, now, could he? So, what were his options? Well, for starters he could wake her up and send her off back home or wherever she currently lived at. The hour was growing late and it was already dark out. But no – were she any other child yes, but given all he had seen and heard and even felt, this was not an option.

Very well – so she was staying the night. Now, what else? Well, he could wake her and send her to bed. He didn't feel like making up an extra bed so she could use his for the night, but chances were the girl would never get back to sleep.

Taking a deep breath he placed the now closed lily-ballerina doll on the mantle before he bent down to scooped the child into his arms. He paused momentarily to see if Olivia would wake at the movement, but all that happened was the child's head lolling against his chest.

Know now that Basil was not an expert in tucking children in. Granted, this was his first time, but for an amateur, getting the child in bed without waking her up was good enough for him.

Task finally completed, he drew back to admire his handy-work. The child certainly looked peaceful enough, and comfortable, but not quite warm enough yet.

He pulled a second set of blankets up over the child and absent-mindedly brushed a few strands of hair off her brow. Instinctively, Olivia leant into the touch with a soft sigh.

"Why do you call me 'child', sir?" she muttered, voice sleepy and eyes still closed.

He would have missed the question entirely where he a lesser man, but alas, he was not, Being a detective would do that to you. As for an answer, he would have liked to point out that she should have been asleep. But alas again – he did not.

"Why do you call me 'sir'?" He asked back. "It's the very same thing. Now, enough talking. It's time you go to sleep."

Olivia nodded her head against the pillow, eyes still tightly closed and very quietly said: "Thank you, Mr. Basil. Merry Christmas."

For a time Basil did not know what to do. He was not a demonstrative man. He did not know what he should say or do in such a situation. Hell, he doubted he knew many who _did _know what to do in such a situation. However, his body seemed to function independently of his worries as he continued to run his thin fingers over the child's fringe. Suddenly he seemed to realize what he was doing and snatched his hand back.

Was he… getting attached to this child? Gods, he truly hopped not.

He so thanked whatever force was governing this universe for the distraction which came in the form of a distinctive knock on his front door. He quickly took everything back the moment he opened said door.

"Good evening my dear brother. I see you've misplaced your cane?" Trust Myerricroft to turn a greeting in an accusation.

"Good evening, Brother mine… Oh yes, please do come in after just doing so." Basil muttered that last part more to himself then for his brother, but the elder son of the Basil family still heard him.

"You must imagine my surprise when I heard news on your outing earlier this day. And saving a street child from a human cart, my boy? It was not your place to do so."

"Well, then whose was it? There was nobody else around, except maybe your agent. And I certainly haven't seen him rushing in to help." Basil snapped.

"Don't take that tone with me, young man." Myerricroft scolded. "You're my baby brother and as the eldest, it is my duty to protect you. But how can I do that when you're running into danger like that?" A slight pause "And how are you standing without any aid?"

… Well, fancy that. He _was _standing without aid.

"I… have no idea." Basil confessed, because truth be told, the whole situation baffled him.

"No matter. Sit down before your strength fails you."

Basil grumbled a complaint, but he did take a seat in his red armchair. His brother occupied the other.

"Just what possessed you to go out on your own, Sherringford? Big, bad landlady finally gone so you decided it was a good idea to just wonder off and maybe break your neck as you slipped on ice?"

"Nothing happened!" Basil cried exasperated. "Honestly, Myerricroft, during these last couple of weeks you've been worse then mother ever was."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He sat and saw, practically rooted to the spot, as is bother's features hardened. The eldest then gripped the arms of his chair – hard. Basil gulped, equally hard.

"Erm… Myerricroft? Brother, I'm sor–"

"No, Sherringford. You are not to finish that sentence." Myerricroft said sternly. "You have no idea what I felt when I saw you lying in the hospital bed, half paralyzed and with such a far away look in your eyes that for one moment, I feared the worse! The doctors told me you were never going to be able to walk as you once did, that you will have to be confined to a weal chair for the rest of your life!"

"Brother –"

"No, Sherringford! You have no idea how much dread I felt within me when I heard those words. My baby brother, the one whom as I child I couldn't stop from climbing trees or running back and forth like a hyperactive chipmunk – never to walk again!"

Basil couldn't take it anymore. He jumped to his feet much like he would in his best of days, surprising his brother into silence.

"Myerricroft, I knew the risks of this job the moment I invented it. I was careless for a moment, that I know. I made a _mistake – _but isn't that normal? Everyone makes mistakes from time to time. But look at me!" He gestured at himself. "I'm still all in one peace, with a sane mind and my feet are getting better. Today proves it."

"What about next time, Sherringford? Hmm? What will happen when you really break your neck in one of your silly stunts? Because I know that if those feet are really mending that is what awaits you."

"Brother! I am not to have this conversation with you now! Have some respect for the Day!"

Myerricroft grumbled something unintelligible at that. _Well, _Basil thought, _that could have gone better, but it also could have gone worse._

"So, concerning the child…" Myerricroft said after a slight pause. "I hope you at least sent her on her way with a nice scolding?"

Oh-ou… Well, maybe if he would lie…

"Sherringford…" his brother began in a knowing growl. Oh, how Basil hated whenever he gave him that look. "You did send her off with a nice scolding like you were supposed to, haven't you?"

Oh… How to say it? How to… Oh, confound it! It was not like he could hide something so big from Myerricroft of all people. Besides, he'd know he was lying. So even though he knew Myerricroft was not going to be happy about it, he took his time to tell his little tale. _A confessed crime was half forgiven_, was that not how the saying went?

By the end of it all, Myerricroft growled.

"I really shouldn't let anything surprise me anymore when it comes to you." He stated simply. "So I take it the child is at least placed in a warm bed and properly tucked in?" Basil nodded. "Good." Myerricroft said before clearing his voice. "And, what do you plan to do with her, more exactly?"

"Keep searching for her father, of course. I've already –"

"No." Myerricroft interfered. "I did not mean your promise to her, but her explicitly." Basil gave him an odd look. He was clearly lost. "I am asking about who is going to take care of her until you find her father. The way things go there seem to be low chances of finding the man anytime soon..."

Basil snorted. "I heard that before."

"Because it's true." Myerricroft pointed out. "And what if – just in theory – you don't find him? Or what if when you do, you'll find him unable to care for her? What then? What are you going to do with the child? Keep her? Sherringford, you don't know the first thing about children, much less about neglected ones."

"Here I agree with you, brother mine, with every fiber of my being. But let's not move to such things quite yet. With luck, I will find him by the end of the week. Sooner still if I'm really lucky. Surely even I am responsible enough to care for a child that long."

"But amuse me. What if you can't?"

"Find the father or care for the child?"

"Try both." Myerricroft demanded. "Sherringford, think of this as a test: you're in the situation stated above. What are you doing?"

His brothers tests were designed to be hard, and most often then not – terribly uncomfortable for Basil. They were situations in which he knew he would never find himself in. He was always much too careful for that. But dear Myerricroft, _always _the pessimist, liked to put him to the test.

He sighted. "Then you must believe me that I simply do not know what to do." Basil confessed and his brother raised an eyebrow. The detective began pacing the sitting room and in a clear, collected voice, continued. "I am clearly at the end of my wits. If I send her to an orphanage she will feel betrayed and most certainly will never have faith in another adult ever again. She already has a rather shabby relationship with most adults she encountered and has a rather worrisome preconception concerning the authorities. She seems comfortable enough in my presence, yet most people (you included) seem to see me incapable of being a proper caretaker for the child. So, what else am I to do?"

"You may try and contact her relatives." Myerricroft suggested. "It's quite impossible not to find at least one. And then there are friends of the family. I can get you the records if it will ease your job in any way."

"Considerably, brother mine, but I still don't know. She is a strong and resourceful young lady and if she had yet to find a way to send word to her family that leaves me to wonder why. And I did promise her…"

"I am not saying you should break a promise, Sherringford, but you must consider the what ifs. What if her father is not to be found? What if he's found dead? What if he would be so mentally scared after his experience that he will be physically and/or mentally unable to care for his daughter? Brother – you must think of the worse before the best."

"Why must I think of that?" Basil cried in exasperation. His brother knew how to get him in a mood with these tests. "You have no data that would support that theory whatsoever. And as far as I know, I am not entitled to make such decisions concerning her future. Last I checked she was not my responsibility."

"Because from what I was able to see, you seem to be the only adult she currently trusts. She will listen to you, my boy, and that gives you the moral obligation to see to it that she receives the best."

"Then I fear she will just have to stay." Oh dear… Could it be that he had just shocked his brother into silence? The look on his face sure said so. "Mrs. Judson can help watch her and I'll read up on child psychology."

Finally, after what seamed like forever, his brother spoke: "Just three facts brother. One: a guardian… a _parent _will do _anything_ for their child. Can you? Two: abused children have issues and as such you will need a lot of patience with them. Are you capable of that? And three: children require love and caring. Can you provide her with them?"

Basil considered these facts for a while before excusing himself. He was not in the mood for mind games anymore. He needed a strong drink, and something told him his brother would not say no to a nice glass of whisky ether… (He KNEW he should have prepared a bottle beforehand!)

Just as the youngest of the Basil brothers disappeared within the kitchen, the eldest heard a quiet squeak coming from behind his chair. Curious, he turned around, only to find a small child, hands clamped over her mouth.

"Young Miss Flaversham, I presume." Myerricroft asked slowly and Olivia nodded warily. "I see my brother and I had woken you. Forgive us. It was not our intention to do so." Olivia nodded, even more wary then before. "Is something troubling you, my dear?"

She hesitated. This man was a stranger, and Basil told her to be weary of strangers. When she heard voices, she decided to investigate. Maybe Basil had found something about her father. If so, then she needed to know. What she heard though, she did not like. Her father… could be dead?

"Am…" she began. "Am I in trouble?"

Myerricroft smiled. "Of course not, little one."

"Is…" she gulped. "Is Basil in trouble sir?"

"Well, that would depend. My brother is always getting in trouble some way or another – wherever he wants to or not. It's like an unwritten rule…"

"Is it because of me?" This time, the answer came in such a whispering voice that the elder Basil didn't hear properly. That was his mistake.

"I believe so… Whatever you say." He said, much like most grown-ups would respond to a child's question they didn't fully understand. It was a small thing, really, but in life there had always been the small things which made the biggest of differences.

Momentarily distracted by a sound coming from the kitchen, Myerricroft was not able to notice Olivia dashing out of her hiding place and run to the front door. It was only after said door was left open, the strong winter winds sending in stray snow flakes, that Myerricroft became aware of the child's intentions.

"Sherringford!"

Meanwhile, not quite that far away from 221B Baker Street, Inspector Vole was fatefully carrying out his patrol. The cold had turned his whiskers into popsicles and his warm overcoat didn't seem to be keeping the cold from setting right into his bones. In short: Vole was not happy.

And he was even less happy when a little… _something _bumped into him, made him spin in place for a couple of times and left him struggling to regain his balance while nursing a nasty wave of dizziness.

"_Merde__! _Watch where you're going, you walking menace!" He yelled at the quickly diminishing figure in the distance. Hump! Some people…

He turned around and made to continue his patrol when another, much bigger… _something _bumped into him with even more force then the first. This time, he spinned twice before completely losing his balance and falling most ungracefully in the snow.

"_Putain merde_! What is wrong with these people!" Vole cried to no-one in particular. He did not expect for none other then Basil of Baker Street to jump out just then (nearly giving him a heart attack as he did so), grab him by the shoulders (and shaking him most vigorously) and ask most seriously:

"Vole! Have you seen a little girl run pass you? Well? Speak man!"

Truth being said, Vole was too shocked (and dizzy) to properly think things trough as he nodded his head. In the meanwhile, another mouse appeared, this one clearly older and more… round around the middle then Basil was, but clearly still a Basil. And he was panting.

"Vole!" The Basil he knew best got his attention again. "Which way did she go?"

Still shocked, Vole pointed towards the direction the… 'first something' went and in a blink of an eye, Basil was hot on its trail, running at full speed and apparently… with no cane?

"What in the…" Vole began to say, but he was cut short by the other moue.

"Yes, I know. Just call it a Christmas miracle man and come on! We have a runaway child on our hands and we need all the help we can get!"

Basil knew that he could trust his brother to deal with Vole for the moment. Right now, he had more urgent matters to see to. Like per instance: a highly disturbed, clearly suicidal, six-year-old girl!

"Olivia!" He called into the empty street. "Olivia! Where are you, silly child?"

He was becoming desperate. This was so not happening! What _was _happening, in fact? Myerricroft said the girl just dashed away with no apparent reason. Oh, but Basil though he knew just what that no apparent reason was – especially judging by the questions Myerricroft said she was asking. He didn't want to jump at conclusions though. First, he will have to find the child, and if he did not murder her on sight, he will ask for qualifications.

"Olivia! Olivia, where are you! Oh! Drat!" The last past was added after he jumped out of the way of a human hansom. Trust humans and their thirst for all that's 'big'… But what was that he saw running towards he end of the curb? Was it –? Yes, it was Olivia. But what was… Oh, no! God above, have mercy!

"No! Olivia! Stop!"

His feet spun into motion faster then his mind was able to take notice. Before he knew it, he cut up with the child who lived to torment him and much like the first time they met, caught her by the hem of her shirt and dragged her back just as the hansom passed. He had forgotten how heavy she was though, and as a result, they both came crashing down in the snow, Olivia lying on top of his chest.

For a while, all was silent. Nothing but the steady sound of snowflakes setting on earth could be heard – at least until Basil said:

"You know, we really should stop doing this." He felt Olivia nod. "I mean, that is the second time in twenty-four hours since I had to pull you out of the way of a moving vehicle." Another nod. "And I don't care if it's the middle of the night. First thing we'll be doing as soon as we get back to Baker Street will be reviewing traffic regulations. Rules, young lady, are put there for a reason: they keep you alive." Nod. "And since we are still on the subject, mind telling me what possessed you to run off in the middle of the night?" Silence.

Basil groaned.

With difficulty, he tried to get Olivia off of him so she could meet her eyes. This proved to be a bit difficult, for the child was stuck to him like a leach. And from the sound of things, she started crying.

Wonderful.

"Child, please stop it. All is forgiven. You are not in trouble. So all that being said, please stop crying. You can get back to it as soon as we get back where it's nice and warm but please don't cry here. Your tears will freeze on your cheeks." He sounded terribly tired when he said all those things, for he was. The fright he received and the extra physical effort had taken its toll on him. And he was so tired.

"I don't want… trouble… me."

Basil thought this girl needed to speak up more. "Child, you shouldn't mumble. As my brother would say, this often leads to a misinterpretation – which is in fact the reason why most wars start. So please, speak clearly."

"I don't want you to be in trouble because of me." Basil frowned. What was this child saying? "That man back there said you got in trouble because of me. I don't want you to get in trouble. If I knew you would, I would have never tried to find you. You've been good to me, sir. You tried to help find my daddy and really worked to do that. Nobody has ever done that for me. And you've served me tea and cookies and talked with me about my nightmares and then you took me out to the fare and then you made me laugh and fed me dinner and put me to sleep and… and…" Crying now. "And now you're in trouble because of it all. I couldn't stay sir. I'm sorry I was such a bother! I really didn't want that. Not for you!"

Despite the fact that his back was hurting him and he was most certainly suffering from severe exhaustion, Basil had to smile. Oh, to have a child's mind…

"Child, I have no idea how this idea just sprang to your sorry little mind, but rest assured that I am by no means 'in trouble'. Not by your standards, at least. You see, that man you spoke to was my older brother, and usually older brothers always argue with their younger ones. It's natural."

She sniffed "Really?"

"Yes child. Really. Now, I think it's time we go back home, don't you think?"

"But… won't I be a bother?"

"Nonsense child!" Cried Basil as Olivia climbed off him. "Fortunately, I do not lack the space, and after today I'd be damned if I'd leave you on your own like that."

"But the other sir –"

"The other sir tends to think more about the future and less of the present, child. He was talking about what will happen after a long, long time, and only in extreme cases. He's a morbid one, I know, but that's why he's such a charming fellow."

There was that laugh he liked to hear so much.

"But bottom line of it all is that you don't need to worry. We'll figure it out yet, you'll see. Right now though, I am looking forward to getting back near a proper fire."

That happy though in mind, he struggled to get up himself, only to find that he couldn't. When Olivia tried to lend a helping hand, Basil could swear he heard something crack – just before a heavy wave of pain practically exploded within his back.

"Mr. Basil!" Olivia cried as Basil fell back hard. "Mr. Basil! Are you hurt?" He couldn't even answer. "I'll get help sir. Hang on in there sir!"

And so Olivia was off, running as far as her little feet could carry her. Basil could do nothing more but watch as she dashed off. He sighted. Never – and he meant _never _– was he going to understand that child.

In the distance, he could hear as bells were ringing and a choir was singing. Seems Christmas day cached him catching snowflakes… how ironic.

* * *

_Well, that is all for today folks. The last chapter and epilogue will be posted tomorrow, but right now, I need sleep. In the meanwhile however, I hope you enjoyed!_


	6. Chapter 5: A soul that waits and hopes

**_A Winter's Tale_**

**Chapter 5: A soul that waits and hopes**

It felt so good… That was all Basil wanted to focus on. Whatever he was sitting on was soft, dry and most importantly warm – certainly _not_ snow. And Jack Frost was not nipping on his nose anymore, so that was good. Only thing he didn't like about his current predicament were those frantic voices which seamed to be floating all around him. He wanted to crack open an eyelid and tell them to shut it so he could get back to sleep, but his eyes were perfectly comfortable as they were.

He was about to slip back into sleep when he heard a frantic, high-pitched voice.

_Olivia?_

Still too far gone to open his eyes, he tried to focus on what the child was saying.

"Wake up, please wake up! You promised!"

… He did? What? When?

"You promised! Sir, please! You promised you'll help me! Please… Please wake up!"

Olivia sounded desperate, like she was on the edge of panic. Basil made an effort to crack open an eye, only to notice that he was in his room… which seamed to have been invaded…

Vole and Clawes were seated in a corner, observing everything and everyone, a round little mouse whom Basil identified as a doctor… surgeon, to be more exact – one who's been in the military, most probably – was putting away a stethoscope. He was smiling, unlike everyone else. Basil considered that to be a most pretty sight. Still, he will have to say that the doctor's smiling face came close second to the sight of his dear brother Myerricroft trying to calm young Olivia.

"Miss Flaversham, he'll be all-right."

"But he won't wake up!" the child cried miserably. "Why won't he wake up? What if he never wakes up?"

The doctor chucked at that, and Basil had to restrain himself from doing the same.

"Child, do cease your worries. It was just a mix between fatigue, shock and exposure to bad weather. With a good night's sleep he'll be as right as rain. Though I would still prescribe him at least one day's bed rest. That back of his need some proper mending."

Bah! Basil was feeling better then ever!

"Still…" The doctor continued. "I'd truly want to know what doctor in his right mind diagnosed him with locomotive difficulties. This man's far from crippled - only improperly treated."

… _COME AGAIN?_

"That is what the doctor said, and at the beginning we were all inclined to believe him." Myerricroft explained, a note of wonder in his voice.

_Yes! YOU're shocked! What about me? They're my damn legs!_

"Well, of course you were. I imagine everything looks bad at the beginning. But with proper exercise he should have been back on his feet months ago."

… So all he needed to get better was _exercise? _That's why he was feeling better after running around all day yesterday? Ohh… He was going to feed that cheat that called himself his doctor to the wolves! AFTER disemboweling him!

_'No effort' my foot! HUMP!_

"But he's still not waking up!" Olivia cried and Basil noted with amusement that she was not even looking at him.

Both eyes now fully opened, he propped himself on his elbows, waving a week hand towards the ones present there.

He needed to buy a camera one of these days, really he did. If the look he saw on Vole's face the other day was a good one, then this one here was worth the whole flat's weight in gold! He will most certainly treasure the memory of this image forever.

Myerricroft was the first to recover and greet him back, choosing to do so by ruffling his hair. Ohh… If Basil knew his brother well then he'll be sure that by the end this day was over he would wish he never opened his eyes. Ruffling hair was Myerricroft's way of saying 'make a will, because you're dead'.

Clawes and Vole followed, tipping their heads slightly and even the doctor waved a chubby hand in return.

Olivia was too busy crying to see all that.

"What if he dies? It will all be my fault! I shouldn't have… He shouldn't have… Now he might _die_!"

Basil just couldn't take it any more. He just had to say something before he would explode laughing.

"Don't lay me to rest just yet, Miss Flamcester. I assure you, that by no means am I dead and no nearer am I to it now then I was three weeks ago. In fact, judging by how well I feel at the present time, I could say that I felt nearer to death back then." He paused. "Of course, that is only unless Baker Street really is hell and I am stuck for all eternity looking at the last people I expected capable of smiling to… well… smile! I swear: nothing is creepier then seeing Myerricroft smile."

He pretended the thrown pillow didn't amuse him.

He may have made a comment on the matter of the stray pillow, but his mind was not able to get very far with that though, as in the next instant he found himself being hugged about the neck.

He thought in that confusing moment that he must be hallucinating. Surely he was ill. After passing out in the snow he must have caught something. Yes, he was hallucinating. Why else would he see Olivia Flaversham clinging onto him like life depended on it?

"You're all-right! You're all-right!"

"Really child! I know I'm not much to look at but have a bit of faith! This old body's seen far worse. Surely a stiff back is no issue…" he choked out most comically, pausing briefly to look at his brother. "Right?" At the eldest's growl, the room erupted with laughter, but the little girl who was clinching around his neck did not loosen her grip for a moment. For the briefest of seconds he allowed himself to rest a hand on the back of Olivia's head, in a self-conscious half-embrace. But only for a second. "That's enough now, child. If you wish to suffocate me this is not the most effective way to do so."

The girl giggled, but finally released him, much to Basil's relief. He was not accustomed to hugs.

"You're all-right, sir." Olivia repeated. Was there a reason why she was imitating a broken record player?

"Yes, thank you very much for stating the obvious, child."

She blushed and lowered her head. Her feet must have looked quite interesting at the moment. "And guess what? The doctor said you'll be walking right again soon, too!"

"I heard as much, my dear. I was in the room as he said it."

"Sir?"

Basil felt that if this is what grown men had to endure while interacting with children, then every parent on this planet deserved a whole lot of more respect… or pity. "Yes, Olivia?"

"Thank you for saving my life, sir. Again."

For some unexplainable reason, he was not expecting those words. Maybe that's why they struck him hard, and for a long while, Basil simply didn't knew what to say. This child was unpredictable, or maybe highly adaptable. Ether way, she always managed to surprise him.

Oh, and she was waiting for an answer.

"You're most welcome, child."

Gods! He must have something in his eyes. Why else would they be tearing up?

"Come now, little miss. Let's leave Mr. Basil be for now. Maybe we can color him a 'get well soon' picture."

_God bless you, Clawes!_

Olivia smiled at the inspector's offer, but still turned to look at Basil as if she was asking for permission. Still not knowing what to do, he simply waved for her to be off.

"Thank you sir!" she said, dashing out the door. Clawes followed. Basil barely had time to lean back properly when Olivia's head popped up again, saying:

"And it's Flaversham!" – before disappearing again.

… _Why of all the cheek! _Out loud though, he only said: "Vole, quite your snickering. It's most licentious of you."

The new face decided it was the right time to make itself known to his patient. "I say sir; I do believe we haven't properly met. My name is Doctor David Q Dawson. Well… Major David Q Dawson but that's old history."

They shock hands, and Basil fought to restrain himself. He found he couldn't. "I had wondered how a surgeon would find way all the way over to my humble home on Christmas day, yet your name now provided me with all I needed to know. I must admit I didn't expect to see you here so soon though. Seems I was right again and Stanton was not all that honest concerning your financial state."

The doctor stared. "How did you…"

For the next five minutes, Basil explained his reasoning, and watched as the doctor's jaw kept dropping lower and lower with each word he uttered.

"Why that's…" Dawson started as Basil's explanation has come to an end.

Myerricroft intervened. "Please don't encourage him. I'm trying to rid him the habit of telling people how he reads them for years, yet all my work is in vain as you can clearly see."

"…Amazing" was all the doctor could say before turning out of the room to collect his thoughts. Myerricroft sighted and rolled his eyes. Basil merely chuckled, thinking all the while that if it were him speaking, he would have chosen 'elementary' as a much better word to describe his deductions.

"Oh, and Sherringford - you received a telegram while _you were out_." Basil gowned as he accepted the telegram from his brother. Myerricroft was never going to let him live this down, was he?

But back to the telegram… And SCORE! Yes! He KNEW IT! Oh, so many months and he still could read criminals like an open book! Daniel Backet, born in Wells, had indeed been one of Ratigan's most slippery henchmen, but that was only because he just happened to knew London as well as his own pockets. But after the Professor's downfall, it was easy to deduce that Backet, like many other that got away, would chose to leave town. That was his mistake, but then people were not that bright. And now all was left to one question: when on the run, what is the first place a man would turn to? Answer: home. So Wells it was then, and it was in Wells that he's been caught… for nothing more but petty thievery from the looks of things. Irony of it all! The ones that arrested him didn't even know that he was a wanted criminal!

Basil kept reading until one piece made him frown. Apparently, when the police went to the man's home they found among big piles of stolen goods a middle-aged mouse which they were unable to identify. The police determined him to have been a hostage, but if that was so, then they couldn't explain why the state they had found him in was so very bad. After sending the man to undergo prologue treatment, the doctors were able to find out only two things about him before he slipped into the comatose state he can still be found today. One of these things was that he had a daughter, Olivia. The other was that his name was… Hiram Flaversham.

The telegram ended with the address where Mr. Flaversham could be found at.

Basil leaned back in bed. Well, he found Flaversham, but how will he ever be able to tell little Olivia just how his father has been found?

A small little detail from the previous day suddenly gained monumental importance and Basil turned to glare at his brother.

"You knew." He accused. Myerricroft did not deny. "You knew about this." He fluttered the telegram. "You knew all along and that is why you put me to that bloody test the other day. You wanted to see what I'd do." Still no sign of denial. Basil groaned. "Why, oh why, dear brother mine, did you not tell me?"

"You never asked." Basil banged his head on the headboard. "And after I've seen you trailing all around town –" he banged his head again "– gathering data –" another bang "– and doing such a good job at it too –" BANG! "– I decided that it was best if I just let you do it at your own pace. Plus, it would hardly be fair. I can't be expected to do all the work around here, you know."

Now that the banging started to hurt his head too much, Basil swung an arm over his eyes.

"You're a cruel, cruel man, Myerricroft." He stated. "You knew I was out of practice, more weary then ever, and had an abused child on my hands (don't you dare deny _that_!) and yet here you are now, telling me my work has all been in vain just to prolong my torture."

A smirk. "Oh, I wouldn't call all that work as being 'in vain', little brother. It got you out of the house and back to doing what you liked to do, as well as managed to get some life back into that scrawny little body of yours. It really felt wrong seeing you become so cautious and obedient all the time."

_Huh? _"Did you not just give me an half an hour lecture on the dangers of going out on my own as well as the ones concerning my job?"

"I had to. I would hardly qualify as a proper bigger brother if I wouldn't."

It took all of Basil's will power not to spring out from the bed and declare open war.

"Will you at least help me tell the girl? You know, as one who has more experience with people and such?" There was hope in his voice, but hardly blatant. You see, when one knew Myerricroft as best as Basil did, he or she will come to know when to hope –

"No. You already seem to have the whole situation under control."

… and when to resort to blackmail. "When I will tell Mrs. Judson about all of this, I will be sure not to forget to mention that you were the one to blame for the child's escapade and by extension my potential death due to prolonged exposure to the elements." He promised.

"Such flair for the dramatics, dear brother… But right now why don't we think about finding the right words to use when we'll tell the child?" Success! Nobody had the courage to stand up to an angry Mrs. Judson – not even Myerricroft. "And while we're at it, my boy, it might be best to think about how or if you'll get the child all way over to Wells to see her father."

Correction: get the practically homeless, probably abused, certainly neglected, problematic child whose father was currently lying in a clinic down in Wells in a comatose state to see said father. Basil returned to banging his head against the headboard.

By the time Dr. Dawson returned to the room, Basil was practically seeing stars. This fact did not escape him.

"Oh, my! I say, Mr. Basil. Whatever is the matter?"

"Headache." Basil replied curtly, glaring at the ceiling.

The doctor didn't seem to notice his bad temper. "Hmm… That's strange. You shouldn't be experiencing any maladies of the sort considering what I just gave you. No matter. I'll find you something suitable for it."

"Lovely chap, don't you think little brother?" Myerricroft whispered in his ear when he least expected it. Basil never had the chance to ask him to explain however.

"Mr. Basil!" came the voice of Olivia Flaversham from downstairs. "Mr. Clawes wants to teach me how to make a proper Christmas card! Can I?"

Basil rolled his eyes. Really now… "Yes, of course you can, Miss Flanterbottom!"

"It's Flaversham!"

Basil shock his head. "Whatever…" Why in the world would that child need to learn how to make a seasonal card at this point in life anyway? Life with that child will never get boring, that was for sure.

_Still, _a part of his mind said, _you best just let her have some fun for now. Who knows when she'll ever be so happy…_

"I must say that's quite an unusual girl you have there." Said the doctor… Dawson, as he approached him with a glass of water and a pill. Basil took them gratefully. "Unlike any other six-year old I've ever seen, that's certain."

"You have no idea." Basil muttered, taking a snip from the glass.

"But I guess it's understandable considering whose ward she is." _Right… Wait a minute… Does that mean… With her father in a comatose state, did that mean that I just agreed to…? WHAT?_ "Don't you agree, Mr. Myerricroft? Surely you too can spot the similarity- Mr. Basil! What's wrong?"

Later, the retired army doctor would remember that day with both a drop of mirth and a tinge of guilt for with that one comment he nearly caused the greatest detective London has ever seen, one who has survived the impossible, to chock to death on his own water…

Half an hour later however, Basil was splashing water on his face, all the while wondering what he was going to do. He looked at his tired green eyes as they looked back at him from the mirror. They seamed to say 'just tell her already', but his heart had a different idea.

From beyond the door, he could hear laughter – her laughter. Vole and Clawes have long since left (something concerning a robbery in Bloomsbury) and according to Myerricroft, the child had kept herself busy trying to teach the doctor how to activate her lily-ballerina. Why the doctor was still there, Basil was not certain, but truth be told, he appreciated it. Somebody had to stay with that child before he and Myerricroft would work out a way tell her without fully breaking the child.

They soon found that there was no such way.

And then there was another problem: where would she go? Basil knew what he told his brother a night ago when he was, ahh… 'put to the test', but that was only hypothetical. Myerricroft knew, as well as Basil did, that such a thing could not happen. It just couldn't. Basil was not the fatherly type. He did not have patience, he did not have rules and all in all, he was not a suitable parental figure.

"Sherringford?" his brother called from the doorway. "The longer we'll wait, the harder it will get. You know that, right?"

Basil nodded before following his brother down to the sitting room. It was now or never then.

Olivia had not said a word since they started explaining her father's situation to her. She did not move, she hardly blinked and Basil once wondered if she was even _breathing_. She just sat there, her face neutral, like a stone lying on its mountain.

After what seamed to be an eternity, they were finished but the girl's pose remained unchanged. The adults were starting to get nervous, the doctor particularly unable not to voice his concerns. But one hard look from Myerricroft shushed him instantly. Then, something most peculiar happened. The girl hopped out of the chair she was seated in and rushed to get on her scarf, cap and coat. From said coat, she pulled out a couple of coins, coins which Basil already knew represented all her savings.

He prayed she was not doing what he thought she was doing.

God did not answer his prayers when the girl stepped forward, pausing to sit in front of him. Basil took pride in the fact that he was a mouse that simply didn't cry, but when that child extended a hand with two sixpences in it, he almost did.

"Child, please pocket your money." He almost pleaded. She shakes her head no.

"You kept your promise, sir." She started simply. "You found my daddy. And that is all I ever asked. For someone to find my daddy… For someone to tell me… where he was…" She tried to keep her voice as neutral as possible, for her body to be as steady as possible, but her voice still cracked and her arms were shaking. She may pretend for as long as she liked, but none of the grown-ups were fooled. Her body spoke volumes of just how much this all affected her.

Dawson tried to calm her down with gentle words, but none seamed to reach her. Myerricroft didn't even try, which was to be expected. The child was already a bit weary of him to begin with. And Basil… Basil wasn't sure what to do. His mind told him to leave it to the doctor and try and calm the girl while he would lock the doors and windows while his heart (or, whatever accounted for one in his case) told him that it wouldn't be enough.

He remembered when he confronted her when it came to that most dreadful nightmare of hers and how she cried in his arms till all the tears had died down. Was it really wise to try and do the same?

He looked at the doctor and at his brother, hoping someone would tell him what to do. Myerricroft's face betrayed nothing, much like always, but the doctor seamed to say 'please do _something_'.

_Traitors… the both of 'em! _Basil sighted. Guess it was all up to him, as always.

As gently as possible, he took the child's hand in his own, gently closing her palm around the two sixpences. The child's eyes shot up at him, completely un-expecting to see Basil smile so tenderly at her.

"Come now, child. I didn't do it for the money. I've never done it for the money." Though his back still protested lightly at the gesture, Basil lowered himself at her level. "I know it's hard to understand, but really now child. After everything that's happened do you really believe we'll abandon you now? So your father is slightly ill –" he knew he was going to regret his next words one way or another… "– but that doesn't mean he's never to get better again."

Olivia had no such hope. She had seen too many in the last couple of months to believe in miracles anymore. She refused to hope. But now, hearing it from Basil… "Really?"

"Have I given you reason to doubt my words, young lady?" He tried to sound offended, but did little to hide the fact that it was an act. Little Olivia noticed this and despite the situation, she giggled. Still, Basil became serious as he continued: "But yes, really. It may take time, but I promise you that everything will work out for you – and your father. But that day _will _come. But you must believe it will. Hope, my dear, must always be the last to die. For you see, until the day when God shall deign to reveal the future to man, all we can do is just wait and hope."

_Wait and hope… _Unable to keep the tears inside any longer, Olivia threw her hands around Basil's neck. The human was right. She was right! And Olivia thanked every single star in the sky for meeting Basil. She cried, though this time her tears were not ones of sorrow and once again, she tried to thank Basil. She didn't knew if he heard her through her weeps, but she did, and she will continue to do so, for in a very long time she found a soul who despite all odds, had given her hope instead of taking it away from her.

For his part, Basil could think of absolutely nothing besides the fact that he seamed to have signed his own death sentence. And just why was Myerricroft grinning so… _proudly _at him? And the doctor had an odd glow in his eyes as well… Damn! He blamed it all on the girl.

_Very well then… _he told himself as another strangled weep escaped from the girl. _She can stay until we can settle for other more permanent arrangements. But then she's out! _But he knew he was kidding himself. There was no escaping this child, not now that he was soaking his favorite bathrobe, nor tomorrow when he'll be taking her to Wells (he wondered if the doctor would mind tagging along) nor the day after that.

But if he still had doubts by the time he threw himself on the bed that night, tired and willing to forget everything that happened in the last three days, then he became certain the moment the sound of little feet were heard entering his room. Basil had no sleep that night… not with the girl sleeping peaceful at his side.

_Forget about traffic regulations – we'll be having a VERY serious talk about dealing with nightmares... by OTHER methods._

**The End**

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And here we have it - the end of the road. I intended to add a epilogue as well, but somehow I seem to have incorporated it in the chapter. But still, I was happy writing it and I do hope, you were happy reading it. And if anyone finds the reference I used in this one (as well as in chapter one) then I bow down to your knowladge in the field of classical French literature.

Thank you for reading, and season's greetings to all!


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